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faeriekit · 28 days

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The Foster Mother

Now on ao3 and VHS release

There was, supposedly, someone waiting for him in the green sitting room.

“…Why?” Tim asked. Most of the usual suspects had already come by to give their “condolences”—former Drakes Industries investors, curious about the newly orphaned heir; fellow socialites, once again flocking in to give and receive sympathies for their “close friends, the Drakes”; gawkers come to see what they could scavenge off of a dead family’s home, never mind that their child was alive.

“She claims to know you, Master Tim,” Alfred offered, kettle in his hand. He spent a moment deciding between different two canisters of tea; a sign of possibly difficult future conversation. “Her interest in your father's estate seemed quite…minimal.”

…Alright.

Tim was still in his formalwear. Dissolving Drake Industries would take at least another year, and plenty of future hours cementing the future home of certain resources in their dissolution, but the outfit probably was more appropriate for whatever oncoming conversation that was about to ensue than his planned change into Dick’s old hoodie and board shorts.

Okay. Tim steeled himself. The self-determination…mostly worked. Whatever. He trudged up into the green sitting room from the kitchen with his usual introduction ready on his tongue.

And then Tim walked into the room.

And then Jazzy was there.

Tim had been three, and Miss Jasmine had been his had been his third nanny. He’d outgrown the wetnurse early on, and his second nanny had been dismissed, so although Miss Jasmine was the third nanny, she was first nanny Tim could consciously remember.

She’d had red hair. She’d been very gentle with him.

She got him up in the morning and put him to bed at night; for the first time, there had been someone who sat with him until he was asleep, reading all sorts of books his parents had left to engage him with as an early genius. Then, when those were over and done as promised to his parents, they got unauthorized books from the library: silly books with made-up words, dinosaur books, books about teddy bears and adventures around the world.

Tim hadn’t been allowed to travel the world. Tim hadn’t been allowed a teddy bear. His parents had thought it would encourage undue attachment.

(It had been the same reason he’d never been given a pacifier.)

Miss Jazz had given him a knitted bunny. She’d said her dad had made it especially for him.

The toy’s name was Bunny and Tim remembered him being very soft.

She didn’t smile all the time, but smiles were rewards that were easy to earn. He finished his meal and she smiled. He finished an educational puzzle and she smiled. He was quiet all through her phone call and she smiled, and answered all his questions once she was done.

Jazzy had been the first person in his life who was there all the time. She’d kissed his forehead after the bath and kissed his scraped knees; she’d carried him in his arms when he was tired and sometimes even when he wasn’t. His parents had wanted him to be independent, proactive, and not clingy, but Jazzy had been someone who he could run to from his bed when he’d had nightmares and someone he could cuddle on her lap with when he’d cried.

She was gone when he was seven. He didn’t remember why. His parents had probably never told him, but still; he'd assumed he'd have found out why eventually.

Jazzy looked the same right now as she looked in Tim’s memories, although she was likely no longer a college student at a nannying gig. Her red hair was pulled into a high bun, her dress modest and conservative from her neck to her ankles. There was a backpack beside her foot. She was sitting, one leg crossed over the other, on the high-backed loveseat in the green sitting room.

She looked up when he came in.

Tim. Stopped in his tracks.

It didn’t matter. Jazzy—Miss Jasmine stood up as soon as she saw him, eyes alight with worry. Foggy memories were swimming to the forefront of Tim’s brain. He couldn’t move.

“Tim?” Ja—Miss Jasmine asked, teal eyes raking over his frame. Tim froze where he was. He didn’t move, wide-eyed and terrified for no reason at all when Miss Jasmine got closer to him, at a distance that was more appropriate for a conversation.

She stood there. Watching him. It felt like his mother had just come home from her trips with Dad, and a ghost of old terror wafted through him as he waited for her to decide he’d done something wrong. Her voice got softer. Her eyes got softer. Why was Tim feeling so wrong-footed?? It was only a former staff person!

“Tim?” her voice was so gentle. “I don’t know if you remember me. I’m—“

“M’s Jazz,” Tim croaked. Which. Wasn’t the level of formality he’d been going for, but better than Jazzy. He wasn’t a toddler anymore.

Miss Jasmine was so tall—honestly, was she taller than Bruce? She’d seemed insurmountable as a child; he hadn’t expected her height to truly be so statuesque as an adult.

(Or. Well. Almost an adult.)

She didn’t quite kneel down, but she did stoop lower, as if Tim was small and he needed to be on equal footing in order to have a serious conversation.

He could see all her freckles. Tim swallowed. It was too familiar. Everything about her was too familiar.

“You’re so big now,” Jazzy whispered, looking at his hair, his suit, his polished shoes. He didn’t feel it. “Oh, you’ve grown up so well.”

Thanks, Tim almost said. Something stopped him—something thick in his throat, to impassable to break through.

“I—“ he tried. He coughed. “Why…you… You’re here?”

Jazzy threw him an incredulous look, and then an incredibly wry one. “Well,” she drawled a little too primly, in the way that Alfred occasionally made obvious statements, “I’d think it obvious that when one’s parents have passed away, that those who care about you might come to check and see if you’re alright.”

Which. That didn’t make sense. Jazzy hadn’t come back for any other reason; she hadn’t come back for his mother’s funeral, nor when his father was injured publicly by a villain. Why start now?

“And,” Jazz added, seeing his visual confusion and distrust, “Your parents can’t exactly threaten me with a kidnapping charge for visiting you when they’re dead.” Pause. “Which I am sorry about. My condolences.”

Which. Whiplash. What a statement.

“Uh,” said Tim, who was rapidly losing control over the situation.

Jazzy stood again, and went back to her seat; she didn’t set herself down, though, as she only stooped to grab her backpack. “I am sorry for being unable to visit, although I really wanted to; you were at a very vulnerable age and had already moved into a class a year above you, and your parents should have been less hasty about replacing your main caretaker. The assassination attempts were unwarranted, but they did drive the point home that attempting contact was perhaps discouraged.”

“What,” said Tim. “Assassin what.”

“They were ninjas,” Jazzy offered, as if that was an answer. “Except the last one, which was a former marine. The point is that I do care about you, and wanted to ask if you had any idea where you’re going now that your parents are no longer…available guardians.”

Tim’s mouth opened. It closed.

Jazzy waited patiently.

“…How have you been?” Tim tried, resorting to a part of the script they hadn’t gone through yet.

Jazzy’s laugh was tired, but no less real. It was nothing like listening to his parents titter politely; he didn’t think Jazzy would even know how to fake a laugh. “Well, my brother told me that my former bosses had died, which was somewhat stressful. Otherwise, I’m pretty happy: I live with my brother and worked with him for the last few years. I was going to pursue medicine, but…well. The assassination attempts made it hard to interview for scholarships. I suppose that I could return to that now,” Jazzy mused, attention now elsewhere. She pulled the backpack off the floor and up into her grip. She opened it, and flipped through its contents. “How are you doing? I know that Wayne Manor fosters, but your parents were always rather…hands off. I thought the difference in levels of attention might be overwhelming.”

It was. Tim should be surprised how clearly she sees through him—

—But Jazzy used to watch him stim for almost a full hour after school, twisting Bunny’s arms back and forth until he could calm down. Seeing other people all day had been too much for him. Coming home from his parents’ parties had been similarly stressful.

She’d never been mad at him for it. She held him while he talked and stimmed and talked and talked and talked, and brushed his hair sometimes, or if it was very late and he was very young, helped him brush his teeth through all the medieval execution facts he could name.

“It is a lot to get used to,” Tim agreed quietly. He didn’t want to be ungrateful. He didn’t want to let on anyone about his plan to leave.

He had an out. The papers had already been filed; there was an actor waiting to play his uncle for a custody battle, ready for the fight.

Tim was ready to up and go. It was no hardship to leave all the good things here; anything beat making Bruce stick his fingers into Tim any deeper than they already were, compromising the dynamic they’d already established.

It was for the best.

“I can imagine,” Jazzy sympathized easily. “And I wanted to offer—well. I know there’s probably a lot of choices available to you, but my brother and I recently moved back to Gotham proper for the time being. He’s teaching astronomy courses at the university and I’m filing paperwork for Arkham patients. It’s not so privileged a home, but it’s quieter, and more central in town.”

…Tim’s heart skipped.

He. He couldn’t stop staring. Jazzy stared back at him, quiet and sure. Sure of what, Tim had no idea, but…

Why? Why would she want Tim? There was no way she would be able to get to his trust fund without his help, and he for sure knew better than to enable her ability to leech from him. The last time she’d known him, Tim had been a snot-nosed kid who cried all the time and couldn’t be normal for twenty consecutive minutes. His parents couldn’t even stand to be on the same hemisphere as him as a child. What appeal did this have for her?? What could having a teenager with severe baggage living in her house do for her?

And it’s not like there was any chance she knew he was Robin!

“Oh,” Jazzy suddenly interrupted. “I brought these for you, by the way. Your parents had tossed them out at various points; I’ve washed them since, of course.”

She handed him the backpack by the handle.

…Tim peeked inside.

On top was Bunny, still a washed-out faded sort of pink. He looked as fresh as he had the day when Tim’s parents had ”cleaned out” Tim’s nursery—in other words, a faded, a little gray, and slightly discolored from an old spaghetti stain. His button eyes were big and blue.

And beneath him were books that hadn’t passed his father’s muster as appropriately masculine reading material: The Velveteen Rabbit, with the cover a little scarred from a fierce attack of wet wipes. There’s A Monster at the End of This Book, with a goofy-looking Muppet on the cover, gold spine beat up beyond belief. Art Tim’s teacher at the time must have laminated and sent home; Tim’s dorky, crayon cat proved he would never make it as an artist, but attached to it was a photograph of a grinning boy with a bowl cut and a missing tooth.

Tim stared. There’d been purple marker on his hands and face. His grin looked…really bad, actually, like as if he was baring his teeth because he didn’t know how to smile. There was no formal grace there. Nothing to show the neighbors, nothing worth framing to put into the line of sight of the investors in the office.

Jazzy had kept it and brought it home with her. Jazzy had fished it out of the trash, and brought it with her to give back to him in Gotham.

It was crinkled like it’d been folded, over and over again. Further down in the bag was a crumpled certificate dedicated to “Timmy Drake, for: knowing a lot about octopi”, and a baby blanket Tim didn’t even remember. It had rocket ships on it. It looked as if someone had cut into it with scissors, although it had been obviously and brightly mended with red embroidery floss later on.

Jazzy had only been his nanny until Tim was seven. She had simply been gone one night, and Mom and Dad had been home for ten nights after without help before giving in and hiring Mrs. McIlvane and Mrs. Edith. Ms. Edith had never been so…permissive…with Tim as Jazzy had been.

Tim swallowed. He carefully put everything back into the backpack, unsure if he even wanted to keep it or not. It wasn’t like he could leave it here; he’d be gone, ideally, before the week was out. There was no point in taking it with him if he only planned to live with a stranger until he was eighteen.

“J…” Tim tried. He cut himself off before he could get too informal without prompting. “Miss Jasmine—“

“Just Jazz,” Jazzy corrected politely.

“—Why are you here?” Tim asked, ignoring how she’d technically already answered. He didn’t believe her. “What made my parents fire you?”

Jazzy’s expression turned…soft. Tim couldn’t look at her. Something horrible was welling with it, and he didn’t know how to cope.

“I’m here because I care about you,” Jazz repeated, and knelt beside him. She looked up into his face, and took his hand. Tim didn’t know why. He was practically an adult—he didn’t need this!

“And I was fired because your Mother overheard you calling me ‘Mommy’ on accident when you were tired. I suppose she was insulted, although I’d never know why; it’s not like she was ever home to bond with you in the first place.”

Tim’s throat closed. He missed his mom. He missed waiting up for his parents’ flight home, seeing their headlights outside the window, and knowing they’d bring home gifts from overseas. He missed using Mom’s perfume, and knowing he’d used more of the bottle sitting on her dressed than she ever had, but that it still smelled like her. He missed hearing his Dad telling all sorts of adventure stories and promises through the phone to be home for the holidays, even if Tim knew there was every chance he’d find some other way to spend the time back in Gotham.

And there was some small child in him who missed Jazzy, who hugged him and walked him to the library and made him soup from a can instead of fancy dinners and, who’d never needed to be waited for in the first place.

Tim looked at Jazzy’s round, freckled face.

He swallowed.

Tim moved out before the end of the week, as expected.

#dp x dc #Jazz fenton #tim drake #that one time Tim specifically hired a fake uncle so that Bruce couldn't adopt him #free to a good home #Jack Fenton knits btw #I'm not going to continue this but i thought it was a cool premise and needed its time. Have fun with it if you want to!#this is dedicated to all the fulltime nannies at the library who are fully just college girls raising babies #dpxdc #dcxdp #Jazz said is anyone going to raise this baby and was targeted by ninjas for it #I don't have any future plans BUT there is a moment where Dick tries to sneak into her apt to 'check it out' and she fully Gets Him with a #TBI and a Fenton CreepStickTM #also. parents who try to shape their kids by denying them every form of human comfort and access to their interests. You're dead to me #also also also I'm still a Tim Drake Autistic truther #not NOT inspired by the Say Uncle by Megarakles. This one's for you fellow fans #also. if he goes with her. He gets parented for the first time ever and it Sucks Ass lol.#faer fic

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marsspeedway · 2 months

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I think Tumblr likes the COLLEGE AU and I love the AUs…. THEN GABRIEL PLAYS THE VIOLIN (the original idea) AND THE KEYBOARD WHY NOT.

The fanfic was inspired by: https://www.tumblr.com/themachine/742337025681850368/happy-friends-day-everybody

If you are willing to read 2725 words of a work in progress about Gabriel and V1 here it is: *English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes, this is mostly translated with an online translator and some corrections by me.

Gabriel really didn't expect to find some dusty old belongings when he returned to his parents' house for a small family dinner with his mother, his two older brothers and a few other relatives he's not very close to. He didn't expect to find Michael so excited when his mother pointed out that he was in the attic, nor did he expect Michael to have taken most of the items out of the boxes when he got there.

The items were scattered on the floor, a few other boxes and the small folding table they kept there. Most of it was his father's stuff, junk or trash he doesn't care about but knows his mother doesn't have the heart to throw away; not when it's the last memories she has of his father before he disappeared.

Gabriel remembers him: a tall, elegant man, extremely strict and whom he had very little time to be around. Even his brothers, who should have known him better, don't know much about him either.

Now, standing here in the dusty air caused by Michael snooping and rummaging through boxes, Gabriel looks around. The attic is not small although neither is his house so he finds it normal. They keep huge amounts of antiques from his grandparents and even great-grandparents or older ancestors that he has only heard stories about. For example: an old desk that belonged to a writer in his family, one of those huge clocks that he remembers they had for a long time in their living room and that he still remembers jumping out of fright every time it rang, Raphael's old drum set is also lying around dismantled and of course Michael's cello in a corner next to the drums on the floor.

Gabriel looks at them and clearly remembers that these things didn't go there, these used to be in a deeper part of the attic.

"What are you looking at Gabe?"

The young man turned his head when he detected his brother's voice and silently motioned with his head towards the instruments. The man walked over, standing next to Gabriel to look at what he was referring to.

"Ah those old things? Well, I thought I'd take my cello to practice again and Raphael wanted his drums too." Michael explained as he folded his arms and then hummed softly, Gabriel raised an eyebrow under his helmet without turning to look at him. "Just in case you want to know…" Michael said slowly, moving closer to Gabriel to slip an arm around his neck and leaning his weight on him.

This couldn't be good.

"Your keyboard and violin are in the back…" GOD DAMN- "I don't mean you should use them, you know…I was just reminding you in case you want them back or want to do something with them." Michael had to have felt him tense up and he definitely did; the way he gently bumped the sides of their heads together with the slight click of the metal of their helmets touching, the way he stroked his back reassuringly, the way he let him go when he felt Gabriel stir.

"You can get rid of them, you don't have to keep them." The older man reminded him by giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder before releasing him completely. "If you want them go ahead, they're in the back on the left… Call me if you need help with anything, yes?" Michael said as he walked away with Gabriel giving him a simple thumbs up in affirmation mode and drawing a chuckle from Michael as he gently shook his head. Sometimes he wondered where his brother had picked up such quiet habits.

When Gabriel watched Michael disappear down the stairs he turned around, hesitating for a second whether to actually go further into the attic but after a few seconds he decided to do so, sighing and spreading his wings to illuminate the area.

The further he goes in he can see more and more boxes, some sealed with tape and others just closed, others possibly opened by Michael and resting on or at the foot of some rotting furniture.

After poking around a bit Gabriel manages to get to the bottom, catching a somewhat large object that is covered by a dark tarp.

Gabriel swallows.

He reaches over, reaching down to drag the heavy tarp off the object's surface and drop it to the ground, revealing what's underneath: his old keyboard.

Okay, one of two… Where's the other one? Gabriel scans the area with his eyes, settling his attention on an old chair where, on the seat, rests a case now whitish thanks to the accumulated dust. Gabriel reaches over, running a hand over it in an attempt to clean it up a bit though it only spreads it further and decides to leave it alone, picking it up and taking it with him to where the keyboard is.

Gabriel used to love these things, don't get him wrong, but now that he remembers their existence and knows that Michael also knows they are here he doesn't hesitate to have his brother tell his mother about his rediscovery and his plans with his old cello. Gabriel's mother is a bit… intense when it comes to music or dance or waltz or whatever it is she likes.

She had made her 3 children practice ballet, she had rehearsed them for the fancy parties that were organized among the rich families in an attempt to make them gentlemen who knew how to waltz well with the damsels, she had put them in an orchestra and also a choir and of course she had made them attend church. It had been fun for a while; when they could play together and have fun or when they practiced anything whenever. But when Michael and Raphael began to have more duties and obligations they began to drift away; leaving Gabriel alone to face it all.

He danced, played, sang, attended mass every Sunday and was a good student until he too could quit like his brothers.

He remembers the moment when his mother informed him that he could stop his extracurricular activities, he remembers how he simply covered his keyboard and put away his violin for the last time one day and never played them again. He knows the same thing happened to his bible now lying somewhere in the bedroom he shares with V1, abandoned when he stumbled upon the blue machine that slowly pulled him away from the path of God his family had instilled in him to follow.

Ah… V1.

Well, now he no doubt knows someone who will be interested in the instruments. He doesn't plan to give them to them, he still loves them and wants to try them again but surely he can lend them to them if they ask for them. Taking them to them sounds like a good idea since besides cheering up the machine he has for a roommate he can practice and try to de-rust a bit before the recital he is sure his mother will force convince them to do.

Gabriel made a mental note to take them with him tomorrow morning when he went back to his dorm, maybe carrying them there won't be so comfortable but it will certainly be worth it to see V1, his friend, happy.

…

The dinner went well, honestly much better than he expected and he was happy with that. Especially since he managed to avoid all the questions about the church he attended, his schedule or if he had already conquered a lady. Of course he had! But it's different to ask that question than to ask if a lady had conquered him, because certainly hadn't. Not when there was a cerulean machine waiting for him in his apartment… FRIENLY- THEY'RE HIS FRIENDS. HE JUST LIKED THEM.

Anyway… It was good. Certainly much better than the last family dinner they had at Christmas. Gabriel never wants to see Michael angry again, that much is clear to him.

He doesn't remember why they had started fighting because, honestly, he hadn't been paying attention. Gabriel was more interested in eating or thinking about what he would do when he got back to his bedroom, thinking about the gift he had bought for V1 that was now hiding in his closet: a replica gun from a game that V1 had been looking for for some time now and that Gabriel had found in perfect condition at a garage sale. Even packaged and with its 4 coins! With the 'Marksman' in his possession V1 almost completed their collection.

Gabriel felt a little proud to have found it. It's old, he knows that, and he also knows that V1 would love it.

He was so deep in thought at the time that he didn't even notice when the voices around him began to raise and only noticed when a bump on the table made him jump in place and nearly spill the spoonful of mashed potato that was going straight into his mouth.

Ah… Another family situation. Nothing new for the times.

Whatever, the point is that this dinner was better than Christmas. And if you'd like to know: yes, V1 absolutely loved the gift. And Gabriel received a new microphone that he had been wanting to buy for a long time: now he could better record his little audios and attempts at home podcasts.

To commemorate the gift V1 opened it carefully, not wanting to damage anything in the slightest because: 1, it was a collector's item and 2, it was a gift from Gabriel. Instead the microphone was lightly tested, saving the real test for later when V1 received an audio from Gabriel that DEFINITELY tested the capabilities of the device.

V1 saved the audio.

Even if it was a silly audio of Gabriel basically mumbling into the microphone in a seductive, gravelly voice that he would kick their ass if they left a mess in the apartment again.

V1 saved the audio.

And now there was Gabriel, walking across campus in the direction of his shared residence hall with a keyboard under his arm and a violin case in his other hand along with his backpack on his back. It was less uncomfortable than he thought it would be although being a 6 foot tall, heavily muscled guy he doubted he would have much trouble with lifting that amount of weight.

When he found himself in front of the door he thought about knocking and waiting to see if the machine was home in the hope that they would open it for him but when he distinguished the sound of an electric guitar on the other side he considered that it would be better not to disturb them in one of their practices.

He fumbled to pass the violin case to his other hand and used the now free one to rummage in his pants pocket for his keys, snapping them into the lock when he found them and turning it to open the lock. The door opened and he was glad when the old hinge didn't squeak knowing that V1 had oiled it as he had asked.

He walked in closing the door behind him and finding his living room in a much better state than he thought it would be. The cushions were a bit of a mess but other than that everything was in its place: the small coffee table was clean with nothing on it, the bookshelves were still tidy, the couches weren't out of place and there was no junk around.

It was a relief.

The familiar sound of the electric guitar quieted for a moment and left him in total silence as he placed the keyboard on the larger couch and on it he laid the violin case, then as he took off his backpack Gabriel gave a nod and at the same time the guitar restarted loudly as Gabriel knew it would. The angel could easily imagine V1 doing the same as him only in a more passionate way and lost in the frenzy of the song: more intense and violent.

He took off his coat, leaving it hanging on the coat rack in the entryway as he made his way down the hallway humming the guitar melody before catching one of the lyrics and singing it quietly.

Rock hadn't been something he'd listened to much growing up, much less metal but he'd certainly grown fond of it since V1 started showing them to him and unconsciously, or consciously, they had become two of his favorite genres. He would deny it with V1, feigning annoyance when the machine would put music on the speakers or when they played a song he knew but they would quickly catch Gabriel humming softly or bobbing his head to the music but would say nothing about it. They would let it happen and enjoy the company in the moment.

At the end of the hallway was the bathroom and before that were the two rooms of the apartment: one facing the other. The doors matched and Gabriel remembers how more than once they both tried to leave at the same time without being aware of each other's presence and how they bumped into each other. At first they were annoyed, really only Gabriel was, but slowly as their friendship grew they both took it more gracefully; like a little attunement.

They learned each other's schedules so it didn't happen so often. Gabriel gets up first thing, at 5am to shower and take his time in the bathroom, at 5:30 the bathroom is free for V1 to use at 6am when they wake up and when they leave breakfast is prepared and ready on the table: blood and whatever Gabriel is going to eat. At 6:30 the dishes are clean and they both share the bathroom to finish getting ready: V1 wipes the unabsorbed or dried blood off the plating and Gabriel does whatever it is that angels do under that helmet of his. V1 still doesn't understand it, they just know it's like washing his mouth or brushing his teeth or something… Oh, and that Gabriel doesn't take off his helmet… Just like he doesn't take it off to eat.

Peeking through V1's half-open doorframe Gabriel watches them from behind, strumming the strings of their guitar with fervor and excitement as they nod their head before the song ends and thus they too must hit their last note.

The angel leans back against the door and watches fondly as the machine sucks in air and listens as the fans spin in the sudden silence, the machine's chest rises and falls in pseudo breaths in an attempt to keep their components cool after the intense movement and Gabriel laughs softly as he claps his hands, making the machine turn their head in his direction.

"Good job there, that sounds great!" Gabriel complimented as he walked into the room, V1 turning fully around to sign a 'thank you'.

"How was your weekend?" Gabriel asked approaching the robot who already knew his intentions since they saw him walking towards them slightly opening his arms.

"Pretty good. We practiced a lot and made progress on a few songs. How about you?" V1 signed before opening their arms and accepting Gabriel between them, letting themselves be squeezed by the strong angel in front of them.

"I'm glad you had a good time." Gabriel murmured sweetly, slouching down and resting his chin on the machine's shoulder. "A good family dinner, you know how they usually are…" Gabriel whispered soothingly, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the affection and feel of the metal of V1's arms around him.

"I also have something to show you." Gabriel hummed, pulling away and placing his hands on V1's shoulders. At the man's words the robot perked up, pulling away from him to bounce in place with excitement and curiosity, drawing a chuckle from Gabriel.

"Come, follow me." He said, sliding his hand down his companion's arm and taking their hand before leading them out of the room. V1 didn't complain, this had been something Gabriel had been doing unconsciously for the past few weeks and V1 found it harmless, almost cute if not charming.

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