In spite of the revelations of the night before, or possibly because of them, Gabe was feeling rather marvellous today. Then again, there were probably other reasons for that as well, and he wasn't about to deprive Skulduggery of all due credit. In all honesty, even though Skul was Gabe's first or second choice for getting a massage, the Archangel hadn't quite expected him to be as good at it as he was. Then again, maybe that was just Kenspeckle's specially-made oil. Or maybe it was their metaphysical connection. Gabe wasn't entirely sure, and in the end he supposed it didn't really matter.
Not that it had been entirely smooth in execution. Skulduggery had been as awkward as Gabe expected in the beginning, so the Archangel had dealt with it all matter-of-factly--because, as far as he was concerned, it was a matter of fact. This sort of injury almost wasn't even an injury, and angels didn't need to be injured to get a grooming to begin with. It was just nice to have once in a while, especially when they hadn't seen each other for a century or two.
But since he did need the attention for health reasons, he treated it as such. Skulduggery apparently hadn't quite realised how literally metaphysical an angel's physiology was, or that their surface tension reflected mundane physics for a reason. It had taken a bit of time to go over exactly what needed to be done, by which time Skulduggery knew for sure that Gabe hadn't been joking when he said it was an endeavour that took the better part of days. It wouldn't solve the aching problem completely, but it did help.
(Gabe wasn't going to mention it, but Rafe had already offered the grooming, if not the healing quite yet, since Gabe had already done his in stages. Gabe had been holding out. The only reason Rafe hadn't actually teased them about it in public yet was because Gabe had threatened to muss up his feathers, and followed through.)
The real problem, the thing that Gabe had actually, genuinely forgotten to mention was the fact that angels enjoyed being groomed. They enjoyed being groomed the same way a cat who wanted to be petted enjoyed being petted. Completely, unashamedly, unrestrainedly.
It had taken Skulduggery a little while longer to get over that perceived awkwardness. In the end, taking into account the night and the first part of the morning, they'd only managed to get Gabe's torso done. Since that covered the bulk of his wing muscles, it was actually a pretty good start. Then Desmond had rung Skul to ask if he was available for a chat, which he had been, and since Gabe had to go into the shelter anyway he thought he'd go in early so he could give Janet his contact details and ask about any sort of orientation.
So he had. The problem was that he'd gone in humming and feeling somewhat more balanced and contented than last time. The problem was that he hadn't noticed the smirks and sly looks he'd been getting. The problem was that he hadn't even noticed the amusement in the souls of the women around him.
All of which meant he'd just been confronted with a situation he was very much not expecting.
"I--what?" he spluttered at Kelly's grinning face, aware his cheeks were red and only just restraining the urge to make them not be red in a fashion which would have indicated something very strange was going on.
"I knew it!" Kelly crowed, chopping three sticks of celery with such speed that Gabe felt anxious just watching her watch him and not the knife. "Girl got laid last night!"
They were cooking lunch. Gabe had never cooked before, so he'd just been stationed to stir the pot of stew. Right now, he was failing at even that, glancing around for some help and finding nothing but grinning faces all around him. Some of the girls, granted, were at least trying to hide it--but not all. Abused women or not, all those present were volunteers or had been at the shelter long enough to be able to tease one another. Especially teasing one another about men.
They'd just found a new target. A new target who was red as beet.
"Oh, come on," said Gloria with a shake of her head, motioning at him with a spoon. She was a resident of the shelter who had simply, as time went on, naturally taken to helping more and more until she was affectionately known as the fourth-floor's den-mother. "You weren't even trying to hide it. You've got that glowy newly-in-love, cat-with-the-cream look all over you."
"I don't!" Gabe objected, and then stopped. "Do I?" He'd seen plenty of people with that very same aura. He just hadn't exactly stopped to look in the mirror before coming to the shelter. Angels didn't need mirrors.
The women exchanged looks. "Yes," they chorused, and laughed.
"I have been told I don't know the meaning of the word subtle," Gabe muttered, looking determinedly down into the stew and stirring it, and not quite able to withhold the twitch of his mouth.
"Whoever said that is one-hundred per-cent accurate," said Kelly.
"To be fair, now we don't have to worry until the honeymoon period is over." Sherridan came over to plop a bowlful of chopped potatoes into the pot. "And at the very least we can be assured Mare's getting everything she deserves. At the very least, this bloke of hers is good for her in bed."
"Having a man who's actually good in bed for the lady is a consolation prize for when she decides to dump him," Gloria agreed.
"How do you know he was good for her in bed?" Kelly asked with a broad grin and a twinkle that made them all pause, look at each other, and then dissolve into giggles at the look on Gabe's face. He tried to explain, badly, that it hadn't been like that, that sex hadn't been involved, that nothing had happened except a massage; at which point Sherridan had protested, "Only a massage!" and Gloria wanted to know if Gabe's boyfriend had a brother.
Gabe had given up, let them think what they wanted, and wound up smiling over his pot as they moved onto equally ribald topics. (He may have encouraged them, just a little, by bringing up 'Dillon's' brother who was both a tailor and a boxer and unfortunately attached; his other brother who was a reluctant politician and extremely good-looking and very much unattached; his third brother who was a roving architect just come into town, also unattached; and finally his youngest brother, recently blinded, not-quite-attached. The conversation had spurred talk of past conquests, right after Gloria had slipped her phone number into his pocket with a wink and a stage-whisper to pass it on to one, or all, of the above.)
That particular topic of conversation didn't die, but it did move smoothly on, as other residents started coming into the kitchen to pick at pieces of the stew. Some of them wouldn't have taken to the teasing quite so well. Kelly sidled close to Gabe as he ladled out the soup with warm smiles, herself passing out bowls until there was a lull in the line for the stew (and a corresponding blockage by the bread and butter).
"You're okay, right?" she asked, and he was almost startled by the concern in her soul, enough to blink at her for a moment.
"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Kelly shrugged. "Janet said you were from Israel. Things aren't exactly the same there."
Gabe thought of the real Mary, and of her cousin Elizabeth, and their whispered, giggling conversations about their prospective husbands. He smiled. "I think you might be surprised. Even in Israel, women can find safe places to talk about men any way they want."
"Oh." Kelly looked relieved and curious in equal turns. And, at the same time, assessing. "But you weren't one of them, were you? You weren't lying when you said the two of you hadn't had sex yet. You’re too shy about the topic." She paused for a moment. "Is there a reason for that? For either of those?"
Her tone was not exactly wary, but on that edge of being defensive on Gabe's behalf, and that willingness to defend him--someone she barely knew--made him smile. If he had been human, he might have felt guilty about lying to her about his perceived gender, but he wasn't and he didn't. There had been several centuries when he'd worn his female cloak as his default.
"Yes," he said simply. Her eyes narrowed, but he went on before she could get up too much mental heat, his voice soft. "Not for the reasons you're assuming. Dillon was married once. His wife and daughter both died. He's said outright that what he wants from me is very different to what he had with her, and their relationship was very physical."
"Physical like giving out massages?" Kelly asked dryly, and Gabe laughed.
"Well, no. Sexually physical. And honestly that's not something I've ever been interested in. So it's not something we're interested in." He shrugged. "I have something of an ongoing, but eventually curable, medical condition. Massages help. This was the first time I got him to do it. He'll never let you know, but--" He flashed her a mischievous, dimpled smile that made her laugh. "--he's really rather adorable when he's embarrassed and trying to be a gentleman at the same time."
Kelly caught her breath, and Gabe was warned by the responding glint of mischief just before she answered. "So what I'm really getting from all this, then, is that you're a pure, innocent virgin." She shook her head. "That's sad. That's really sad. I think it's our duty to dirty you up. Make him really gentlemanly embarrassed."
"Or," Gabe replied, "I can just parade him in front of the shelter doors and let you girls do it for me."
They laughed again and the ensuing discussion about platonically embarrassing people lasted throughout the lunch-rush. Gabe kept a metaphysical eye out the whole time. Kelly remained stationed by him, introducing him to anyone who asked and pointing out newer residents of the shelter--people who might benefit from his gentle touch or people who probably wouldn't react well to him for whatever reason. The newest arrival, Gabe was pleased an amused to see, was one Saffron Sweetgrass.
"She arrived last night, about nine o'clock," Kelly said after pointing her out. Gabe watched without staring. Saffron sat alone in the furthest corner where she could see the whole room, her back rigid with uncertainty but her expression a mixture of curiosity and deep, deep yearning she probably wasn't even aware she was wearing. "Father Patrick O'Reilly brought her in, said a friend had asked him to help her."
"I know Paddy," Gabe said with a quiet smile. "He helped me adjust to being in the country."
Kelly nodded. "He's a good man. One of the few men we'd let into the shelter at all, and even then he doesn't go upstairs. Sometimes he ministers to the girls, even the ones who aren’t Christian. We've seen women like Saffron before, but not many--girls on the other side of the class divide, who have been taught that they're better than everyone else, but then are knocked around just as badly. She's not as bad off as some I've seen, though. I've seen abused girls who just couldn't let go of being rich princesses. Saffron at leastwants to be in on things; she just doesn't know how. You can see it in her eyes."
Kelly wasn't wrong. Saffron looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept well, and she moved strangely in the threadbare clothes. On one hand, as if she wasn't used to an outfit that had been stitched up half a dozen times, but clutching it to her as if she wasn't used to her clothes being properly warm, or at least something she’d been able to choose. The way she looked around was with a prey's eye, wary and liable to either shy or be proud if spoken to, but at the same time hungry, confused and curious.
Gabe took note of all this, reminded himself to give Solomon an update, and carried on with his lunch duties.
no subject
Not that it had been entirely smooth in execution. Skulduggery had been as awkward as Gabe expected in the beginning, so the Archangel had dealt with it all matter-of-factly--because, as far as he was concerned, it was a matter of fact. This sort of injury almost wasn't even an injury, and angels didn't need to be injured to get a grooming to begin with. It was just nice to have once in a while, especially when they hadn't seen each other for a century or two.
But since he did need the attention for health reasons, he treated it as such. Skulduggery apparently hadn't quite realised how literally metaphysical an angel's physiology was, or that their surface tension reflected mundane physics for a reason. It had taken a bit of time to go over exactly what needed to be done, by which time Skulduggery knew for sure that Gabe hadn't been joking when he said it was an endeavour that took the better part of days. It wouldn't solve the aching problem completely, but it did help.
(Gabe wasn't going to mention it, but Rafe had already offered the grooming, if not the healing quite yet, since Gabe had already done his in stages. Gabe had been holding out. The only reason Rafe hadn't actually teased them about it in public yet was because Gabe had threatened to muss up his feathers, and followed through.)
The real problem, the thing that Gabe had actually, genuinely forgotten to mention was the fact that angels enjoyed being groomed. They enjoyed being groomed the same way a cat who wanted to be petted enjoyed being petted. Completely, unashamedly, unrestrainedly.
It had taken Skulduggery a little while longer to get over that perceived awkwardness. In the end, taking into account the night and the first part of the morning, they'd only managed to get Gabe's torso done. Since that covered the bulk of his wing muscles, it was actually a pretty good start. Then Desmond had rung Skul to ask if he was available for a chat, which he had been, and since Gabe had to go into the shelter anyway he thought he'd go in early so he could give Janet his contact details and ask about any sort of orientation.
So he had. The problem was that he'd gone in humming and feeling somewhat more balanced and contented than last time. The problem was that he hadn't noticed the smirks and sly looks he'd been getting. The problem was that he hadn't even noticed the amusement in the souls of the women around him.
All of which meant he'd just been confronted with a situation he was very much not expecting.
"I--what?" he spluttered at Kelly's grinning face, aware his cheeks were red and only just restraining the urge to make them not be red in a fashion which would have indicated something very strange was going on.
"I knew it!" Kelly crowed, chopping three sticks of celery with such speed that Gabe felt anxious just watching her watch him and not the knife. "Girl got laid last night!"
They were cooking lunch. Gabe had never cooked before, so he'd just been stationed to stir the pot of stew. Right now, he was failing at even that, glancing around for some help and finding nothing but grinning faces all around him. Some of the girls, granted, were at least trying to hide it--but not all. Abused women or not, all those present were volunteers or had been at the shelter long enough to be able to tease one another. Especially teasing one another about men.
They'd just found a new target. A new target who was red as beet.
"Oh, come on," said Gloria with a shake of her head, motioning at him with a spoon. She was a resident of the shelter who had simply, as time went on, naturally taken to helping more and more until she was affectionately known as the fourth-floor's den-mother. "You weren't even trying to hide it. You've got that glowy newly-in-love, cat-with-the-cream look all over you."
"I don't!" Gabe objected, and then stopped. "Do I?" He'd seen plenty of people with that very same aura. He just hadn't exactly stopped to look in the mirror before coming to the shelter. Angels didn't need mirrors.
The women exchanged looks. "Yes," they chorused, and laughed.
"I have been told I don't know the meaning of the word subtle," Gabe muttered, looking determinedly down into the stew and stirring it, and not quite able to withhold the twitch of his mouth.
"Whoever said that is one-hundred per-cent accurate," said Kelly.
"To be fair, now we don't have to worry until the honeymoon period is over." Sherridan came over to plop a bowlful of chopped potatoes into the pot. "And at the very least we can be assured Mare's getting everything she deserves. At the very least, this bloke of hers is good for her in bed."
"Having a man who's actually good in bed for the lady is a consolation prize for when she decides to dump him," Gloria agreed.
"How do you know he was good for her in bed?" Kelly asked with a broad grin and a twinkle that made them all pause, look at each other, and then dissolve into giggles at the look on Gabe's face. He tried to explain, badly, that it hadn't been like that, that sex hadn't been involved, that nothing had happened except a massage; at which point Sherridan had protested, "Only a massage!" and Gloria wanted to know if Gabe's boyfriend had a brother.
Gabe had given up, let them think what they wanted, and wound up smiling over his pot as they moved onto equally ribald topics. (He may have encouraged them, just a little, by bringing up 'Dillon's' brother who was both a tailor and a boxer and unfortunately attached; his other brother who was a reluctant politician and extremely good-looking and very much unattached; his third brother who was a roving architect just come into town, also unattached; and finally his youngest brother, recently blinded, not-quite-attached. The conversation had spurred talk of past conquests, right after Gloria had slipped her phone number into his pocket with a wink and a stage-whisper to pass it on to one, or all, of the above.)
That particular topic of conversation didn't die, but it did move smoothly on, as other residents started coming into the kitchen to pick at pieces of the stew. Some of them wouldn't have taken to the teasing quite so well. Kelly sidled close to Gabe as he ladled out the soup with warm smiles, herself passing out bowls until there was a lull in the line for the stew (and a corresponding blockage by the bread and butter).
"You're okay, right?" she asked, and he was almost startled by the concern in her soul, enough to blink at her for a moment.
"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
Kelly shrugged. "Janet said you were from Israel. Things aren't exactly the same there."
Gabe thought of the real Mary, and of her cousin Elizabeth, and their whispered, giggling conversations about their prospective husbands. He smiled. "I think you might be surprised. Even in Israel, women can find safe places to talk about men any way they want."
"Oh." Kelly looked relieved and curious in equal turns. And, at the same time, assessing. "But you weren't one of them, were you? You weren't lying when you said the two of you hadn't had sex yet. You’re too shy about the topic." She paused for a moment. "Is there a reason for that? For either of those?"
Her tone was not exactly wary, but on that edge of being defensive on Gabe's behalf, and that willingness to defend him--someone she barely knew--made him smile. If he had been human, he might have felt guilty about lying to her about his perceived gender, but he wasn't and he didn't. There had been several centuries when he'd worn his female cloak as his default.
"Yes," he said simply. Her eyes narrowed, but he went on before she could get up too much mental heat, his voice soft. "Not for the reasons you're assuming. Dillon was married once. His wife and daughter both died. He's said outright that what he wants from me is very different to what he had with her, and their relationship was very physical."
"Physical like giving out massages?" Kelly asked dryly, and Gabe laughed.
"Well, no. Sexually physical. And honestly that's not something I've ever been interested in. So it's not something we're interested in." He shrugged. "I have something of an ongoing, but eventually curable, medical condition. Massages help. This was the first time I got him to do it. He'll never let you know, but--" He flashed her a mischievous, dimpled smile that made her laugh. "--he's really rather adorable when he's embarrassed and trying to be a gentleman at the same time."
Kelly caught her breath, and Gabe was warned by the responding glint of mischief just before she answered. "So what I'm really getting from all this, then, is that you're a pure, innocent virgin." She shook her head. "That's sad. That's really sad. I think it's our duty to dirty you up. Make him really gentlemanly embarrassed."
"Or," Gabe replied, "I can just parade him in front of the shelter doors and let you girls do it for me."
They laughed again and the ensuing discussion about platonically embarrassing people lasted throughout the lunch-rush. Gabe kept a metaphysical eye out the whole time. Kelly remained stationed by him, introducing him to anyone who asked and pointing out newer residents of the shelter--people who might benefit from his gentle touch or people who probably wouldn't react well to him for whatever reason. The newest arrival, Gabe was pleased an amused to see, was one Saffron Sweetgrass.
"She arrived last night, about nine o'clock," Kelly said after pointing her out. Gabe watched without staring. Saffron sat alone in the furthest corner where she could see the whole room, her back rigid with uncertainty but her expression a mixture of curiosity and deep, deep yearning she probably wasn't even aware she was wearing. "Father Patrick O'Reilly brought her in, said a friend had asked him to help her."
"I know Paddy," Gabe said with a quiet smile. "He helped me adjust to being in the country."
Kelly nodded. "He's a good man. One of the few men we'd let into the shelter at all, and even then he doesn't go upstairs. Sometimes he ministers to the girls, even the ones who aren’t Christian. We've seen women like Saffron before, but not many--girls on the other side of the class divide, who have been taught that they're better than everyone else, but then are knocked around just as badly. She's not as bad off as some I've seen, though. I've seen abused girls who just couldn't let go of being rich princesses. Saffron at leastwants to be in on things; she just doesn't know how. You can see it in her eyes."
Kelly wasn't wrong. Saffron looked exhausted, like she hadn't slept well, and she moved strangely in the threadbare clothes. On one hand, as if she wasn't used to an outfit that had been stitched up half a dozen times, but clutching it to her as if she wasn't used to her clothes being properly warm, or at least something she’d been able to choose. The way she looked around was with a prey's eye, wary and liable to either shy or be proud if spoken to, but at the same time hungry, confused and curious.
Gabe took note of all this, reminded himself to give Solomon an update, and carried on with his lunch duties.