Page 88 of The Succubi's Choice

In the other room, almost conspicuous, she hears Gabriel’s snores stop, and they both fall silent, a shared little breath of air, before he delicately sets down the sharpie.

“You don’t mind if I just stick these up on the door jamb, do you?” He asks, and he’s back into the friendliness and away from the business mode so fast it’s dizzying. “Or do you have a windowsill or something that would be more effective?”

“No, door jamb is good,” she says, like she’s able to keep up with the change, and he stands up, leaving the couch cool without him. “Are you going to hurt her?”

He doesn’t make a move towards her door, but twitches, almost too fast for the naked eye, and the post-it notes almost appear on top. Like he’s showing off. “I said, she would be unscathed, regardless if you say anything.” His voice is gentle, still, and it hurts a bit. “You need to trust me.”

And isn’t that a hoot. Isn’t that close to impossible, with everything going on and the way he talks about the very Organization that has employed her for years.

That had tortured her without thinking twice.

“That’s really hard,” she blurts out, and he nods, as if able to understand her point.

“People have been saying that to me whenever I’m in existence,” he says, a little bit of weary in the line of his shoulder and the stoop of his jaw. “Is there...” he gestures, expansive, at the small room around them, at the lived-in coziness that comes from being unable to afford any new or nice furniture for years, and for a split second she doesn’t know where he’s going, what he’s going to say. “Is there any way to help you to trust me?”

She stares at him, and after a moment his shoulders slump a bit, just a hair, and she scrambles to figure out what to say. “I mean, it’s hard to trust anyone right now?”

He cocks his head and, gallant, holds his hand out, like he’s about to take her on an adventure while she’s still in her pajama shorts. “That, I can understand,” he says, and it’s clear that he has an idea, that he has a plan, that he got his confidence back in a quick and easy manner.

Must be nice, to be so sure in whatever you want to do to regain it that quickly.

“What are you doing?” She asks, out of sheer curiosity, out of wonder of what he would pull out of his pocket this time. After everything she’s seen him do, the idea that he could do something to intentionally impress her and make her trust him seems…

After a second, she puts her hand in his, even though it’s probably not the smartest thing she’s ever done.

He closes his fingers around hers, gives them a quick squeeze, and —

They’re in his apartment. Thomas’s apartment. Whatever.

He holds her hand until she has her feet underneath her, then releases his grasp, and she already misses it, but it’s...interesting to see him in this room. In a place that is so obviously human and so obviously inhabited by a human, he sticks out, like someone transported him from a different world.

Which, there’s arguments to make that he did, so. Moot point.

He sits down in front of the giant, fire-breathing computer, typing in a few keystrokes with confidence, and he seems even more out of place in front of it.

“When did you learn how to use computers?” She asks, drawing close.

His eyes flicker up to her, before returning to the screen.

“It’s still very much up in the air if I know how to use them,” he says, and she can recognize self-deprecating humor when she sees it. “But around eight months ago.”

“So I take it this is Thomas’s?”

“I asked him for a way to access records, to access things without physically being in a location, and when I came back he had purchased this,” he says, leaving many more questions than before, and he cranes his neck up to look at her. “I used to have to burn down buildings to get to government records, this is much easier.”

He types, achingly slow, before bringing up a screen that’s familiar. The same computer portal for the Organization that she has to input a countless amount of paperwork, that she knows Lundy has to use to input in everything.

Slowly, she sees him type in her own name, and she tilts her head.

“And after some work, and after some connections, I got this.” He presses the enter button, still slow and double checking his motions, but it beeps and…

She leans in close, staring at the screen.

It’s her file. Her file, the one that Lundy doesn’t have fully, the one that Katya didn’t see. Exactly what’s done to her, questions logged, her feeding schedule for the last fifteen years.

“What the fuck,” she breathes, and he scoots his chair over so she can see better.

Idly, off to the side, she notices login information, with detailed directions on how to log in, like he needs it to remember how to access it.

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