It took a moment for those words to sink in with Paddy, evidenced by his shaking of Merlin's hand quite normally before his face and limbs grew slack. He threw an almost desperate look back towards Ghastly, who shrugged sympathetically. "I wasn't talking about specifically that," the tailor amended quietly. "It's a feeling you should probably get used to."
Erskine could definitely relate. He still wasn't used to it. He'd been very glad he wasn't the one driving when he glanced backwards in the car and saw a large chocolate lab happily asleep with his head in Allie's old seat - Allie herself situated back in the childrens' ward at the hospital, all set for another test in the morning.
Everything Erskine had been through, however, was worth it to watch the Gabe-dog padding unconcernedly over to the skeleton detective and flopping down right on top of Skulduggery's feet. Skulduggery's illusory face made it all the more interesting to watch. Amusement flickered through it, that was a given, but it transitioned smoothly into a fond sort of exasperation, and then - and this was what made it all worthwhile - something gently tender.
It didn't even have anything to do with poking fun at him later. Skulduggery had gone through stark contrasts much of his life, going from barely ever properly laughing once, to single-minded determination, to guilt over something formerly unknown, to the kind of good-natured camaraderie he'd been capable of even while eternally angry. Never, not once, did Erskine see him protective over someone. Oh, concerned, definitely. Caring. Frighteningly angry when he thought anything might have happened to them - to any of the Dead Men, in particular, during the war. But protective? Never protective. Skulduggery wasn't the sort of person who associated with anyone who needed protection.
He still didn't. Valkyrie Cain confused Erskine for that reason, when she and Skulduggery first became widely known as a partnership, but it quickly became apparent that she could easily look after herself. And where she couldn't, Skulduggery was teaching her to. Hardly what Erskine would call protective. Paternal, maybe, to a degree, but not protective.
And yet, he was protective over Gabe. That was what the expression was - tender protectiveness. Not because Gabe needed protecting; he was an Archangel, for God's sake. It was more because as an Archangel, there was a lot about life Gabe didn't understand. Like free will. Free will was a big one. And rather than being stoically objective, as Skulduggery was so good at doing, the skeleton was doing his best to help. Not teach. Not simply demonstrate, but help.
It was heartwarming, it really was. Maybe it was only because Erskine could finally see the expression involved, but that was fine. There was a lot he could have forgiven Skulduggery for in those few moments.
Rafe's distraction was slow in coming, but come it did. Erskine looked down at the chocolate lab and the pure excitement radiating through the dog's body, wondering just what he was supposed to do. He certainly wasn't going to wrestle the dog himself, and he didn't have anything to throw. This wasn't the kind of dog you could just pretend you'd thrown a ball for.
Or was it?
Erskine cupped a flame in his palm behind his back. "You want to play, boy? Is that what you want? You want to play?" He stepped backwards, fed a little magic into the flame, wound his arm back, and threw - without actually throwing. The flame was strong enough to look like a circular object, and it left Erskine's hand at the peak of the throw, but fizzled out as it arced through the air and disappeared altogether.
no subject
Erskine could definitely relate. He still wasn't used to it. He'd been very glad he wasn't the one driving when he glanced backwards in the car and saw a large chocolate lab happily asleep with his head in Allie's old seat - Allie herself situated back in the childrens' ward at the hospital, all set for another test in the morning.
Everything Erskine had been through, however, was worth it to watch the Gabe-dog padding unconcernedly over to the skeleton detective and flopping down right on top of Skulduggery's feet. Skulduggery's illusory face made it all the more interesting to watch. Amusement flickered through it, that was a given, but it transitioned smoothly into a fond sort of exasperation, and then - and this was what made it all worthwhile - something gently tender.
It didn't even have anything to do with poking fun at him later. Skulduggery had gone through stark contrasts much of his life, going from barely ever properly laughing once, to single-minded determination, to guilt over something formerly unknown, to the kind of good-natured camaraderie he'd been capable of even while eternally angry. Never, not once, did Erskine see him protective over someone. Oh, concerned, definitely. Caring. Frighteningly angry when he thought anything might have happened to them - to any of the Dead Men, in particular, during the war. But protective? Never protective. Skulduggery wasn't the sort of person who associated with anyone who needed protection.
He still didn't. Valkyrie Cain confused Erskine for that reason, when she and Skulduggery first became widely known as a partnership, but it quickly became apparent that she could easily look after herself. And where she couldn't, Skulduggery was teaching her to. Hardly what Erskine would call protective. Paternal, maybe, to a degree, but not protective.
And yet, he was protective over Gabe. That was what the expression was - tender protectiveness. Not because Gabe needed protecting; he was an Archangel, for God's sake. It was more because as an Archangel, there was a lot about life Gabe didn't understand. Like free will. Free will was a big one. And rather than being stoically objective, as Skulduggery was so good at doing, the skeleton was doing his best to help. Not teach. Not simply demonstrate, but help.
It was heartwarming, it really was. Maybe it was only because Erskine could finally see the expression involved, but that was fine. There was a lot he could have forgiven Skulduggery for in those few moments.
Rafe's distraction was slow in coming, but come it did. Erskine looked down at the chocolate lab and the pure excitement radiating through the dog's body, wondering just what he was supposed to do. He certainly wasn't going to wrestle the dog himself, and he didn't have anything to throw. This wasn't the kind of dog you could just pretend you'd thrown a ball for.
Or was it?
Erskine cupped a flame in his palm behind his back. "You want to play, boy? Is that what you want? You want to play?" He stepped backwards, fed a little magic into the flame, wound his arm back, and threw - without actually throwing. The flame was strong enough to look like a circular object, and it left Erskine's hand at the peak of the throw, but fizzled out as it arced through the air and disappeared altogether.