It took a long time. Gabe wasn't exactly aware of how long. He was aware of the pulse and resonance of souls, and the anger in Skul which should have been a repellent but wasn't for the simple fact of Skul's endless centuries of restraint. The anger, somehow, did nothing but highlight everything Skulduggery was doing to keep it in check--everything that made Skulduggery worthy.

The Archangel let those feelings wash over him, let them beat back the insidious whisper of his guilt and his grief. Eventually, the tears slowed and Gabe could feel something other than the despair or the concern.

That was what he finally, truly came aware of the fact that Skul's arms were around him, and as odd as the sight must have been, it didn't feel odd or awkward at all. It just felt comforting. Comforting enough that Gabe took the moments to centre himself, to find his calm. Finally he stirred, his spare arm wrapping around Skul's back to return the embrace with a silent, grateful squeeze.

Then the Archangel sat back, unembarrassed by the wetness of his cheeks, and took a deep breath to lock in the feeling of calm. "I'm sorry," he said, and his voice was still raw. "I wasn't expecting that. Did they notice my presence? I tried not to push back, but I'm not sure if I left quickly enough to stop them from realising something was happening."

If the necromancers had felt him start to retaliate against the darkness, they might have a problem. He didn't know if any sorcerers here could do that.