Gabe

When I tell people about my time with the Society and Gabe, I never tell them about Gabe specifically. I don’t talk about when I first met him, or our first mission together, or even the really mundane things like what he’s good at. I always seem to start with Felix.

Somehow that seems right, I suppose. My memory of Felix isn’t quite as biased as my memory of Gabe, and when I tell that story I tell it straight. And I suppose I don’t like to talk of my recollections of Gabe as a Crawler, minimal and vague as they are. Because he’s always just been Gabe to me. My friend Gabe, my workmate, my…I don’t know. He’s just never been Gabe the Level Six Time Crawler, scum of time and space. I can’t imagine him that way.

It doesn’t mean I ignore it. I’m painfully aware of the fact that he’s not the saint I see him as. I guess telling people that makes me feel like I’m staining his rewritten record with tainted visions of a bad person. If he was really a bad person before, he’s made up for that now. In my eyes, at least.

But, since you asked, I’ll try my very best.

In my first five months of training for the Society with all of the other new recruits, I thought nothing of which division of the Society I’d be lumped in after. I could be in the Main Division, of which Scarlet herself was a proud member, or of the newer Diamond Division. The Diamond Division was the name for the area Gabe and I work in now – ex-Crawler, Society member, fighting against crime. Or, in our case, patching up the mess crime makes. I just thought about how glad I was to be there fighting for a good cause, and how proud my parents were, and how proud I was, and how much I ached all the time because of the training and such.

I got my room soon after completing my Level One training. With the help of my tutors, I had decided to try for Level Four tests, at the very least, and was given a pile of book work and practical work to complete under test conditions. As I was revising for these in the hot summer, my eyes wandering longingly to the sunny grounds every five minutes or so, I began to think more about the divisions and what I wanted to do.

I’m not saying I’m a pacifist. It’s just I’ve never really been much of a fighter. The whole patching holes business was the only thing I could do apart from that. And I told the Society my views, and they understood, but said that the Diamond Division was the only one for me. That was okay, though; I could still take my Level Four tests and rise in the ranks.

The last problem left was the Crawler I’d be working with.

It was a problem because after most of the Crawlers had handed themselves in after Ryan’s death the rest were unwilling to convert. It had also been a while since they’d imprisoned any Crawlers that were still awaiting trial. However, they arranged a date for me to visit the cells with my new Contact and a senior member to look for any suitable ones.

My first thought, as I lay awake that night, was that it would be like trying to choose a pet, but worse. I had visions of these hellish Crawlers all leering out of little cages and trying to throttle me through the bars. Did nothing for my sleep that night. My second thought, when I awoke, was that if I didn’t find any Crawler who didn’t want to kill me then I’d have to wait forever to start my job. My third was that I shouldn’t have told them I didn’t want to fight.

But I’d done it then. I dressed into my normal clothes, then my regulation jacket, tied my hair back and met my entourage in the reception.

Chrissie met me first. “Hey there, you must be Jessica,” she said warmly, and shook my hand. I smiled meekly.

“Jess, if that’s okay.”

“Jess, that’s fine. I’m Chrissie, your Contact.”

I gave another timid smile. “Are you going to help me?” I asked.

“If I can. If there’s any way there’s anybody to convert, that is,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’re just getting clearance for the cells and then we’ll be ready.”

The second person, the senior member, was a thin, pinched woman with lumps in all of the wrong places, a chest flat enough to iron on and very stuck out cheek bones. Her dark hair was pulled painfully into a prim ponytail, and her clothes hung off her awkwardly, like she had shrunk in the wash.

“Jessica,” she said crisply, holding out a hand. I was almost afraid to shake it in case I broke her, but she had a very firm grip. “I am Helen. Let’s get to business, shall we?”

She strode purposefully to the lift and jabbed the button. I looked at Chrissie. Chrissie rolled her eyes, sighed in a resigned way and followed with me in front. I decided I liked her, and that Helen was the scariest person I’d met in the Society. Nevertheless, I went into the lift with her and Chrissie.

It was an odd group of people to be stuck together in a small metal box. I didn’t think about it at the time. Chrissie, bright red hair, short, stocky; me, a little mousy looking and petite; and monstrous Helen, tall and tin as a bean pole with her scraped back hair and sharp eyes.

The journey took us downwards. I hadn’t seen how Helen had done that, because there were only numbers from one to fifty. However, we were going below one, below it all, until the bustle of the main building was left behind and I was starting to feel very worried indeed. Where were we going? Down? Underground?

It seems that my worries were answered accordingly. “We are going to the seventh ground floor,” said Helen crisply (you think her answering that was spooky, I had lots of occasions in which I think she read my mind), “where the cells rise from floor ten upwards. Floor seven is for Level Six Crawlers. Floor one is solitary confinement.”

I was about to ask what solitary confinement was, and she answered before I spoke.
“That is where rule breaking Society members go. I advise you not to end up there.”

I closed my mouth and swallowed hard. “Level Six?” I asked. “I’m only working for Level Four.”

“Level Six has the most convicts in it at the moment. We shall see when we arrive.”

We arrived. The doors swished open and I was shown a light grey corridor with plenty of bright white lights, compensating for the lack of sunlight, and four doors, two on each side. We passed a few guards on the way to the second door, Helen showed some I.D. and on we went.

Until then it was nothing like I imagined. Suddenly the corridor was very dark. My eyes adjusted reluctantly to the new light. Helen was walking quite slowly down the middle of a row of cells, with bars and everything, separated by thick slabs of concrete. Some were empty as I passed. My eyes lingered inside one – a bed, a toilet, a sink. That was it. And it was all grubby, and smelled of wee, to be honest, and dirty, evil people. My skin began to itch. Maybe there were lice there. I pulled a face and walked on.

I wanted to go as fast as possible, but Helen strolled casually past the cells. The first Crawler we came to was female, with a shaved, stubbly head and small eyes. She looked up as we passed, a satanic glint somewhere, and I looked away quickly. Helen considered this one for a moment.

“Staring at something, missy?” asked the Crawler bitterly. Helen’s lip curled unpleasantly.

“Watch your tongue,” she said curtly, and turned. “Not her.”

I wondered how the choosing process went as I passed another woman and a man. They all had desolate looking faces, or bored expressions, or superior glazes over their eyes as they stared at nothing, all with their uniforms and quirks and sneers. I felt nothing for any of them, except fear and contempt. How could they sit there and still be cocky? We had them. They were in for life imprisonment or death. And the snide comments kept coming, to Helen and me mostly. Chrissie didn’t have a jacket on for some reason, so they ignored her.

Only a few cells were left. Helen gave a small, snotty sigh. “Hmm. We might have to go down a level.”

I panicked at the thought of being confronted by Level Seven Crawlers – that lot were bad enough. As I was staring around I caught one person.

I think it was because he had a small camping light perched on the sink, giving out a ghostly white shimmer as my eyes flitted past it. He was sitting on the bed, head turned away to the corner, so all I could see was his hunched body and pale white hands.

Slowly I walked to the bars and looked in carefully. Now, he didn’t seem so cocky. More afraid, and alone. And the camping light intrigued me, to be honest. For a moment I stood there as Helen and Chrissie strolled on. He didn’t move. I wondered if he was asleep. Then I thought he might be dead.

But, as if he sensed my presence, he turned his head so it rested heavily against the wall, staring at the little light on the sink. His dark brown hair had been tied in a ponytail, but it was all coming undone and a little wild around the edges. His face was pale, shining in the bright glow, arms hugging his knees to his chest. He took a deep, shaking breath and didn’t let it out.

I felt someone at my side, but I didn’t turn to them. In the cell, he let his knees go and sat glumly with his hands on his knees and head bowed.

“I wouldn’t bother with him,” said Helen’s voice crisply beside me. I glanced at her. He didn’t even stir.

“Why not?”

“His trial ended yesterday.”

I looked at him for a moment. He didn’t appear to have heard anything, but there was a slight alertness to the way he was. “What’s his name?” I asked.

“That is Gabriel Braithwaite. As I said, I wouldn’t bother,” said Helen haughtily, and began to walk away.

“What was his sentence?” I called. There was a slight pause.

“Death,” called Helen.

He looked up, and turned to the bars in one solid movement. And his eyes…God, his eyes. I just stood there, transfixed. They were full of tears, and anguish, and impenetrable fear, and he stared at me and pleaded for his life for three seconds with his eyes alone. But he didn’t say anything.

I could barely move. My breath caught in my throat. How could anything so fragile looking be condemned to death? How could someone with that depth, that emotion, be locked in there? Every part of me felt wrong, and nervous, and hypocritical under his eyes. I took a deep breath. He didn’t move.

“When?” I asked Helen.

“Next week. Shot at dawn.”

His eyes clenched shut all of a sudden and he hid his face in shaking hands. His shoulders shuddered. The most pathetic sobs I’d ever heard crept through his fingers. Gently I stepped away and followed Helen out.

We didn’t go to any other floors. We went straight back up in silence. I couldn’t get Gabe out of my head, his eyes, his tears. Shot at dawn…what a horrible sentence. He was just sitting and waiting to die.

“He won’t convert,” said Helen suddenly. I looked up at her quickly.

“Who?”

“Gabe.”

“Have you asked?”

“Oh, they all get a choice. He refused. Said he’d rather they stripped the flesh off his body.”

“Yuck,” cringed Chrissie. “Always heard he was eloquent with words.”

“He was creative, with every aspect of his work,” said Helen, in an ‘I couldn’t care less’ way. “But he got what he deserved.”

“I wouldn’t say anyone deserved it,” I murmured.

“Being shot is the easy and quick way out,” said Helen. “The coward’s way out.”

I didn’t say anything. All I could see were the eyes, imprinted in my mind. “I’d like to talk to him,” I said finally.

Helen’s head whipped around so fast I was surprised it didn’t just fall off. “Talk to him?” she spluttered. I nodded.

“Tomorrow. I’d like to talk to him tomorrow.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” said Chrissie quickly, before Helen could butt in. I smiled at her. Warming to Chrissie was not difficult.

*

The next day I was in the lift early, going to the second floor. I felt very assertive and right, like I was bringing some justice to the world, with an important piece of paper in my hand and Chrissie’s words in my mind. She’d told me that I could get a twenty minute interview with him, but that I should be prepared to be turned down.

However, when I arrived at the interrogation suite I learned that Gabe had accepted my request, and would arrive shortly after nine. A slight feeling of hope in my stomach full of butterflies, I sat down in a plastic chair by the wall and waited for the clock to reach five to nine. I was so nervous. My hands shook so badly that I could barely clench my fists and my mouth was as dry as cat litter. But my mind was relatively blank, and my pre-chosen words ordered themselves into coherent sentences, and I was ready to face my first real Crawler.

They let me into the room at nine. It was a simple room; in the middle was a table and two chairs on either side, and a security camera sat in the corner of the room. Two guards stood by the door opposite me and one behind me.

Gabe was at the desk.

At first he didn’t see me. His face was in his hands as he sat there and he was taking deep breaths. I took a tentative step forwards.

“Gabriel?” I asked politely.

He looked up instantly. His eyes didn’t have the same pleading quality, the same magic, but all the same they were deep and full of emotion. I gave him a friendly smile and took my place at the table. He watched me closely. Carefully, biding my precious time, I put the paper onto the table and looked at him in a little more detail.
Okay, Tudor style clothes, quite posh. A deep, navy velvet doublet over a black shirt with huge sleeves. I didn’t see his legs yet, but I suspected that he had those funny trousers on, with the huge legs that puffed out at the top, and little shoes. The ponytail had been neatened up since the day before, but he still looked grubby and worn.

“My name is Jess,” I said gently. He swallowed and nodded faintly. “I saw you yesterday, in the cells.”

He opened his mouth, as if to speak, and then decided against it and said nothing. He simply nodded again.

“I was told about your sentence,” I said. I didn’t have to fake any pity; it was all there in my voice, and he seemed to feel the sincerity and gave another nod. “I didn’t want you sitting in there all alone without anything else to think about. How did you plead?”

He swallowed again and shook his head slightly. “Guilty,” he said softly. There it was, that timid posh voice with the right pronunciation on everything. “I thought if I did that I would get a better sentence.”

A bitter smile twisted his lips for a moment and then he looked down. “That was brave of you,” I said honestly. He looked up. He looked shocked, even confused, but he gave me another little smile, this time fully genuine.

“Thank you.”

I decided that I should get to the point. “Listen, Gabriel – “

“Gabe,” he interrupted softly. “The only people who call me Gabriel are the Society.”

“I’m part of the Society,” I reminded him, and an odd look came over him.

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

I felt my ears burn and cleared my throat. “Gabe…I saw you there yesterday and you seemed different from all of the others. More feeling, more considerate. I don’t know, it just seemed to come from you.” I paused. He was watching me closely. “I’m a member of the Diamond Division – no doubt you know them. I’m taking my Level Four tests soon. And I’m looking for someone like you. To help me. With maintenance work and stuff. And I know you’ve already been asked but I…”

I trailed off. He gave a small nod and looked at the table in a weary, disappointed way. “I wondered if you’d reconsider,” I said quietly. “Just reconsider. I brought this with me.” I slid the piece of paper towards him. “Just a list of rules and regulations, things like that. I thought it’d give you something to think over while you sit there in that cell.”

He nodded again, eyes still on the same spot of table. A little trickle of disappointment ran down into my stomach and grew with every passing second. But I continued to speak.

“It’s always been a dream of mine to do something good with my life. So I came here. But I need someone to work with. And I saw you and you seemed just right.”

“I see,” he whispered. He licked his dry lips and nodded with another sigh, straightening himself up in the chair. “Look at me, Jess. Please just look at me.” I did as I was told. He looked at me levelly, with a hint of determination in his eyes, and strength. “I pleaded guilty. I’m going to get shot for it. And I will consider your…offer. But I refused it once and I am likely to refuse it again.”

“But why?” I asked. He looked at me for a moment longer.

“Because I will not take the easy way out,” he said clearly. He stood, picked up the paper and turned to the door at the back. The guards slammed handcuffs onto his wrists and pushed him out of the door. Quickly I looked at his trousers.

Black combat trousers. How odd.

And he was out of sight. I gave a soft sigh, stood and left the room, thinking hard about what he’d said. The easy way out… the coward’s way out. The way hundreds had chosen over capture and death immediately after they realised they were weaker. But he’d rather die?

But what else had struck me was his simple, dignified beauty, in everything he did. Even the way he had sat there in silence was a masterpiece of movement. He was a Tudor. Therefore he’d probably been taught to move and act that way. And it was wonderful.

I lay awake that night worrying. I’d risked my credibility with the senior Society members by going to visit Gabe, that I knew. And I might have ruined the only chance I had at saving that poor man’s life. And being a full member, but that didn’t concern me then. All I really cared about was if Gabe lived or died.

I heard nothing all the next day. I went to my training, did a little more studying for my exams, but my mind always wandered to the eyes in the cell and the man in the combats and doublet. I could barely concentrate on brushing my teeth, let alone the five codes of conduct in a past time. Eventually I gave up and thought more about him.

The next day started very much like that one. I went into the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, had a shower. I wrapped myself in my towel, humming slightly to myself, and opened the bathroom door.

Helen was standing in my bedroom. I gave a slight choke and retreated behind the door slightly, heart beating wildly. She was glaring at me with cold anger.

“I have been asked to escort this…man…up here to begin his training with you,” she said briskly. I frowned at her slightly.

“Where is he?”

The lift doors swished open.

I ducked behind the door, pulled on my dressing gown and stepped out tentatively.
Gabe. Gabe Braithwaite, Level Six Time Crawler, newly conformed Society worker, was standing in my bedroom. I gave a sheepish, cringing smile. “Caught you at a bad time, did we?” asked Helen, slightly sneeringly. “I’ll leave him with you.”

And she stalked off. She was sulking.

Gabe simply stood there for a moment, watching me. Then he said, “I’m here.”

I nodded. Fantastic response. “It’s great to see you,” I said positively. He looked me up and down with a slight expression of amusement.

“Maybe you should get dressed,” he said. A smile was pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“Maybe I should,” I agreed breathlessly, ran to my under-bed drawer and pulled out the first items of clothing I found, then retreated back into the bathroom.

Oh. My. God. That was what I first thought. Then I felt an overwhelming surge of happiness and oh so smug, thinking about the look on Helen’s face with the biggest grin on mine. I had converted Gabe Braithwaite. Praise me. Plus I was going to get to know him better, and he seemed so interesting, and I was now officially a member of the Diamond Division.

He’d just seen me with only my dressing gown on.

I gave a weak moan and hid my head in my hands. That was well planned. It didn’t matter that much, really, but it was hugely embarrassing then. When I was dressed I ventured back outside.

Gabe was nervously walking around my room, looking at everything very closely, and stopped to stare out of the window.

“It’s a nice view,” I said. He jumped out of his skin and looked at me. I smiled timidly. “I’m glad you made it.”

He licked his dry lips and nodded. “I made my mind up,” he said eventually. “I thought it was good of you to give me a second chance. To believe in me, unlike the others who just wanted to get rid of me.”

“Well,” I said, “this is my half of the room.” I walked purposefully to the other side, to the door, and opened it. “This is yours.”

He slowly followed me, like a scared animal, and peeked his head in. His side of the room was painted the same white as mine, but it was darker as it had no window. Bed, wardrobe, chest of drawers, bathroom door. “It’s not much,” I said as he entered.

“Better than my previous accommodation,” he said, with a small smile, and sat on the bed. He looked up at me. “Jess or Jessica?” he asked plainly. I smiled.
“Jess most of the time. You can call me Jessica if it’s urgent,” I said. “Gabe or Gabriel?”

“Gabe. He used to call me Gabriel.” He shuddered a little when he said the word ‘he’, and I could assume he meant the Summoner. “Everyone else calls me Gabe.” He was looking at me quite closely and it was unnerving me slightly, almost like he was trying to figure me out. I shuffled a little. His smile widened. “Sorry. I’m just taking you in. Horrid habit of mine.” I stood politely under his gaze for perhaps two minutes more. Then he sniffed and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted himself, like jail had taken its toll.

“You should get some sleep,” I said, going to his chest of drawers to find him some pyjamas.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he insisted. “It’s been a bit of a whirl, to be honest.”

I placed the clothes slowly onto his bed and sat beside him. “Lot of emotions in a short space of time,” I guessed. He nodded. “It’s all going to start properly tomorrow. Maybe you should get some rest.”

His eyes travelled up to my face. “Are you always this…?” He trailed off.

“This what?” I laughed.

“Caring,” he finished. I shrugged and looked away.

“I’ve not had much company for a while. And you’ve had a rough time.”

It was silent for a moment. “I don’t feel at all well,” he said softly, quite suddenly.

“Really?”

“I feel quite dazed. And sick. My head is exploding with change and information…I was meant to die today, I think, I don’t remember what day it is…” He trailed off again and fell back onto the bed with a sigh.

“Go to sleep,” I said.

“I will,” he replied.

“Find me when you’re up.”

He nodded.

But, as it turns out, he didn’t sleep one wink. As I was just about to get into bed there was a timid knock on my door. “Yes?” I called. He opened it a fraction.

“Can I sit with you for a while?” he asked quietly. I wanted to sleep, but I melted with sympathy for him.

“Yeah, sure,” I said and sat on my bed. He joined me.

We talked for hours. He asked me about myself and I practically gave him my life story. After that I asked him about himself. He was Tudor, lived in a little house with his family. They all died of the plague, coincidentally, and then he met a Crawler who said he could help out. That was when he became what he was.

“What were you arrested for?” I asked. He paused. “If you don’t mind me asking,” I added hastily.

“This and that,” he said vaguely. He wasn’t meeting my eyes anymore. I had a feeling that he was lying to me. “I don’t remember most of what I did.”

“Were you scared?” I asked.

“Petrified,” he replied, and laughed, and I started to laugh. “I think this is all part of God’s plan.”

“Are you religious?”

“Well, most of the time.”

“A part-time Christian?”

We talked and talked until our throats were sore, and then he let me get some shut-eye.

We were up about five hours later dressed, washed and ready to go. Gabe looked as nervous as anything. I got him some breakfast which he wolfed down like he’d never eaten before and then looked remotely sick. I asked him if he was okay several times, and each time he just nodded and looked even greener.

The third floor was our destination. The further down we went in the lift, the more Gabe looked like he wanted to leg it straight out of there. I don’t know what made me do it then, but he looked so scared that I grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

“You’ll be fine,” I said comfortingly.

“You think?” he asked, looking weakly at me. I smiled and nodded.

“I’m sure.”

The doors opened. I had never been to the third floor before. We were presented with a thin room and six desks. I looked at Gabe; he shrugged and I led him to a desk.

“Erm, are we meant to register or something?” I asked. The woman nodded and smiled.

“Names?”

“Jess Marshal and Gabe Braithwaite. He’s new,” I added. She smiled wider and looked at her computer screen.

“Yes, everything seems in order. Has Gabe signed his papers?”

I looked at Gabe. He looked confused for a moment. Then he shrugged again. “He’s not sure,” I said to the woman.

“All he has to do is sign his contract, and then we’re ready for him.”

She pulled out a sheet of paper and a biro, and placed them on the desk. Slowly, Gabe came up beside me and read the piece of paper. Then, with a nod, he signed it with a very loopy signature, and the receptionist smiled.

“All set,” she beamed. “You need to go to the end of this corridor and take a left, room twelve.”

She presented me with a little green card, and Gabe and I set off down the thin corridor to the right. “What did that contract thing say?” I asked nervously. He pulled a face.

“What you would expect. No crimes against the Society, stay within the rules… don’t use your special power under any circumstances etcetera,” he said calmly. “I think I already signed one but I have to be sure.”

“Do you think I have to sign?” I asked. He shook his head.

“You already did when you joined.”

“You know a heck of a lot about the Society.”

He gave a dry smile. “Got to know the enemy,” he replied.

We arrived at room twelve, which was about halfway down the corridor. With a little jump in my heart I opened the door and went in.

Clothes. Lines and lines, rail upon rail, of clothes from every era, every country in all of the world. My jaw dropped. I am a woman, after all; I love clothes, and it was like heaven. So many colours, so many fabrics, so many styles…

I looked up at Gabe; he was looking sick again.

A man bustled up to us with a big grin. “You will be Jessica – “ He shook my hand so fast it was like he was trying to pull it off, “– and you will be Gabe. Welcome, both of you, welcome. Shall we begin?”

“Begin what, exactly?” I asked. He grinned wider.

“Why, Gabe can’t stay dressed like that if he works for us now, can he? Couple more things to do, then we’re all sorted and you two are officially working.”

I laughed and looked up at Gabe. He did not look impressed. “All right, fine,” he sighed, scratching his head. “So, where do we begin?”

The man took him by the arm and led him through the rails.

It has to be one of the funniest and most enjoyable days of my life. Gabe having a long-overdue haircut and style, and actually enjoying himself, although reluctantly, and then the long hours that followed as he tried on about a million outfits. As he did that, I went wandering on my own and picked out some things I thought would suit him. I could guess at his dimensions, and found some rather fetching items of clothing. Such a good looking man needed good looking clothes, after all. And they had to be dark and deep, like his eyes, and soft, and…

I returned with only three items and one box of shoes with my face glowing. Gabe looked out at me from the cubicle. “Where have you been?” he asked.

“Try these on,” I said, and handed him the clothes. He looked at me curiously and vanished.

I waited nervously. I could hear him laughing inside the cubicle, and the random sounds that changing clothes makes.

And then he came out.

Perfect, if I say so myself.

He was standing before me in a pair of dark but faded, slightly fitted jeans, some plimsoll Converse trainers in dark blue, and a dark brown t-shirt with a black suit jacket over the top. And he looked so gorgeous, and it went with his new hairstyle, and a small smile was on his face.

“Jeans,” he said, as I stood to tweak it. “Jess, these are jeans.”

“I know.”

“But with a suit jacket?”

“Gabe, shush. This is the twenty-first century.” I pulled his jacket down slightly, smoothed it onto his thin torso, and looked in the mirror behind him. “Do you like it?” I asked. He gave a small laugh and gave me a face that simply said, ‘Do I have a choice?’

“Very smart,” said the designer.

“Very smart,” repeated Gabe softly, smiling gently.

“It’s lovely,” I said wistfully. Gabe nodded.

“It has appeal.”

I laughed at how reluctant he could be. “What’s that meant to mean? Scared to admit I know something you don’t?”

“Okay, you know about clothes.”

In his new outfit Gabe and I went to pick out some more t-shirts, jackets and jeans for him. He was good at colours and knew what he liked and disliked, which helped, and soon we left room twelve with arms full of clothes. Gabe smiled at me.

“It won’t always be like this, will it?” he asked, with a small and sad smile on his face as we went up in the lift. As much as I hated to admit it, I shook my head.

“No. But let’s enjoy it while it lasts.”

He nodded and looked at the doors.

But, for a while, nothing changed. Gabe and I got to know each other better, and every day I grew more and more fond of him, and wanted to know more about him, and he was willing to feed me with any information I wanted – apart from anything about his crimes against time and space. And he relaxed, and became the Gabe I know and love today, and everything was fine for the first few days we lived in those rooms together.

But, as Gabe says, everything has its time. And the time came when we went on our first job, and then I saw a side of Gabe I never want to see again.