But Gabriel recognized it.
That was the same look he’d seen reflected in the mirror. With his tongue dry and mouth reeking of whatever bottle he could get his hands on. It was the look of a man broken by the weight he was carrying. This was guilt.
Gabriel reeled; all traces of exhaustion gone. He clutched Blake, wanting to shake him.
“How could you have known he was allergic?” he reasoned, trying to find a train of logic he could grab onto—something to ground them both.
But Blake didn’t want to hear it. He threw his hands up. “It wouldn’t have mattered! We only had theoneantibiotic. I had no choice. His leg was infected and I…” he trailed off, looking out over the balcony into the dark parking lot.
Gabriel reached for Blake’s hand, already curled into a fist of frustration and cold from his lack of gloves. He couldn't do anything but hold it between his cupped hands.“Then you didn’t have a choice,” Gabriel repeated firmly. “Blake, you save lives, but you’re not all-powerful. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.”
“I guess I should know that better than anyone,” Blake said bitterly, turning back to Gabriel. “I could have saved him if I’d had the supplies. I could have tried something different, or if we had enough Epi I could have stopped the reaction.”
It felt like talking to a rock. He was determined to beat himself up no matter the truth. Gabriel tamped down his frustration. “Supplies aren’t your fault. We collect what we can, when we can. But if the medicine isn’t there?—”
“The medicineisthere,” Blake hissed, yanking his hand from between Gabriels. “It’s there, you just don’t know what to take! You’re so focused on your fucking guns and saving the day that you just snatch whatever bottle of goddamn antacids you can find and hope that’s enough.”
“That’s not fair,” Gabriel snapped, his exhaustion eating away at his patience. His head was starting to throb—he just wanted to sleep, to finally comehome.“We don’t know what medicines are worth making space for.”
“Exactly.” Blake’s nostrils flared as he stared up at Gabriel. “You don’t know, and you won’t let me go.”
“Go? On missions? Blake, we barely make it out alive as it is!”
“And what? I’m some kind of liability?” he pressed his lips together. “Don’t forget, I was the one who savedyourlife. And I did it all without a gun.”
Gabriel was speechless. Blakewantedto go out there? There was no way. He was just angry. Time and guilt had dulled the terror of feeling death’s breath on the back of his neck.
“You’re not a soldier.”
“No, I’m a medic. Oh—except when you need me to be a doctor. Or a surgeon.” Blake’s eyes were glassy in the light of the candle. Gabriel could have sworn he saw his lower lip wobble.
“I—” Gabriel cut himself off. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” he finished lamely.
Blake stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head, roughly swiping at his eyes. He stepped around Gabriel and walked to their room.
His hands closed around the handle, jiggling it once before looking back at Gabriel. “You know, you never go out on missions alone. You always have someone to watch your back. I don’t have that luxury.”
And then he was gone, stepping into the darkness that ten minutes ago had seemed so appealing. Now it just felt cold.
Gabriel stared at the place Blake had been standing, slack-jawed and wide awake.
How had he missed this? He thought Blake had been happy. Thought he didn’twantto go back into the field. Here at the motel, he was as safe as he could be, mostly warm, with food and shelter. It was the best place for him.
For Gabriel, too.
Knowing Blake was here, safe, had allowed him to do his job. Had allowed him to put one foot in front of the other on the days when he didn’t think he could take another step. It kept his mind clear when shit hit the fan, and bullets were plinking harmlessly off alien skin, he could keep firing because he knew Blakewasn’t there.
Gabriel stumbled to the railing and leaned against it. The bolts holding it into the concrete wobbled as he rested his weight. How could he have missed Blake’s growing pain? Gabriel couldn’t even blame the alcohol this time—he was stone-cold sober and missing the signs that the man he cared about morethan anything was hurting. Digging himself deeper and deeper. And where had Gabriel been?
Freezing his ass off in a dead city with a paintball gun and a Polaroid camera.
The worst part of sobriety was the inescapable truth of who he was. Alcohol could dull it. Hide it all away and let him float. But with the detox came the gross realization that he had to live with himself. Not the version soaked in booze. That version of himself was temporary, fleeting. Its ugliness was easy to ignore.
But him, the real him, under the influence, was just him. Gabriel and his own personal brand of bullshit. And he couldn’t escape it. Like the lives he took, it sat on his shoulder like a fucked up parrot repeating all the bad words it was never supposed to learn. Something he couldn’t crochet away.
And now he was sitting here, desperate to shut himself up. To quiet the thoughts that told him he was selfish. That keeping Blake tucked up here in the motel was the only wayGabrielcould survive all this.
Gabriel was treating Blake no differently than his crochet hook—safe in his pocket, ready to be pulled out whenever he needed.
