By: magicks
Summary: When Gabe cracks, who's there for him? Surprisingly, not Sara.
A/n: My muse is on an angst kick, and she's set her murderous little sights on Gabriel, so, yes, this fic contains suicide, depression,and cutting. Don't hurt me!
A/n2: oh, yeah, this is an AU. Nobody died in "Transcendence" except for Dante, Danny's alive (although the first season is the same) and Jake decided to stay at the NYPD instead of going back to the FBI.
Disclaimer: "Tell me," said the psychiatrist,"when did these nightmares start?" "A couple months ago," she answered, "when she told me- she- she" the girl broke down in tears. "She told me she didn't own Witchblade!" she sobbed. The psychiatrist scribbled something onto the legal pad in his lap. 'Witchblade owned by Top Cow and TNT.' "I see," he said sympathetically, handing the young lady a tissue, "that sort of news would be hard for anyone."
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Gabriel inspected his arm closely before making another cut. He took a swig of vodka and watched the blood dribble slowly down his arm. Normally, he didn't drink while cutting himself; with the alcohol he couldn't feel the pain. But tonight was special. It was Sly's three-month anniversary. Three months ago today, he had found his wild (if not slightly dangerous) best friend hanging from the rafters of his own home, an apparent suicide. Gabriel knew the truth.
This one's for you, Sly. Gabriel sliced open a thin scar that ran diagonally down his left arm, starting just below his elbow and ending three-quarters of the way down his forearm. It was the same line he cut every month. The first cut he ever made on himself. At first, he'd cut slow and deep, wanting to bleed out the pain. Came pretty damn close to bleeding out his own life, too, but he didn't care. The next month he'd reopened the wound, but with less force. Now, he barely cut through the first few layers of skin, just deep enough to draw blood. Deep enough to hurt.
Another gulp of burning alcohol and the knife switched hands. Enough wallowing in the past, let's think about the present, Gabriel said to himself, and laughed bitterly. Hmm... where to start? Business first, I think. He made a slow, deliberate cut about two inches wide across the middle of his forearm. Should anyone see it they would have thought he'd slipped while opening a new shipment, or caught his shirtsleeve on a rusty nail. It looked like a very ordinary cut, to symbolize an ordinary career. Not that selling exotic treasures was ordinary, but his business just wasn't going anywhere. Talismaniac.com was living off token purchases, and he hadn't had any new finds in months.
I guess my father was right. I never did amount to anything, Gabe thought, contemplating his right arm as if carefully deciding on the placement of the next incision. Let's see, what else could I possibly have to live for? Oh yes, friends. Once again, that bitter cold laugh, chilled to the bone. I've got Sly, whoever's at the bar when I'm there, and Sara. He cringed at the last name. Well, I can cross Sly off of the 'People Who Give a Shit' list, though he was probably the only lifelong member. He made a little nick in the underside of his arm. Anyone at the bar is either too drunk to remember who they are, much less who I am, or they're trying to get to drunk to remember. He made another little nick. I guess that leaves Sara. Even the mention of her name made him wince, and he took another swill of the firey vodka. Sara. It had been a month since he'd seen her. A month since they'd taken down the White Bulls and Jake had killed Captain Dante in self defense. A month since Nottingham had risked his life to save Sara and himself. Two weeks since Sara had returned from her vacation to Hawaii. A month since she'd called. A month since she'd bothered to think of him at all.
He nicked himself again with the knife.
Her friendship was all he had left. He'd given up his silly crush on her long ago, but he still looked to her as a younger brother to an older sister, needing support and guidance. And she hadn't been there.
He nicked himself again.
She hadn't called in the past two weeks since she'd been back.
nick.
Hadn't cared to see how he'd been coping.
nick.
Just like with Sly.
nick.
Give the kid a pep talk, and he's magically healed.
nick.
Doesn't work that way, Sara.
nick.
I hurt all the time, but you don't care, do you?
nick.
The messenger's done his job, now he can fade away and everybody can ignore him.
nick.
You never did care, did you, Sara?
nick.
did you?
DID YOU????
"Fuck you, Sara, fuck you and fuck the Witchblade!" screamed Gabriel, slashing through all of the cuts with one sharp swipe.
"Why didn't you care? Why didn't you see? I'm hurting, why don't you see? God, why doesn't anyone see?" Breaking down into tears, Gabriel dropped the knife and sobbed into his bloody hands. After a couple of minutes he quieted. It really wasn't Sara's fault. She had her own life to put back together, and couldn't be bothered with things as trivial as his need for reassurance. Nobody should be bothered with it. It was time he put an end to the trouble he caused.
He reached over to grab the small handgun sitting on the coffee table. He had bought it years ago, but every time he'd considered using it there had been somone, (aka Sly) to talk him down. When Sly died, he threw himself into his work for Sara to keep from pulling the trigger. He figured that if he did these things for her, she would be there for him, be the one to tell him he was wanted in the world when he had his doubts.
Well, he had his doubts now. And, he thought, I have my answer.
He double checked to make sure there were bullets in the gun, which was a pointless gesture, as he always kept it loaded. He took one last gulp of vodka when he noticed his hand shaking. Come on, Gabe, no time for second thoughts now. Still trembing, he raised the gun to his right temple.
"I woudn't do that, Mr. Bowman."
Gabriel whirled, and stared into the face of........... Ian Nottingham. Nottingham?
"Nottingham, what the *hell* are you doing here? Wait. You know what? I don't care. Just leave."
Nottingham stood still, his face impassive and expression stone. "I'm afraid I cannot do that."
"What?!? Didn't you hear me? I said leave! Leave!" Gabriel screamed, backing up against the wall, stressed to the point of hysteria. "Get out! Go! Leave me alone, just like everybody else! I don't matter, remember? I did my job, Sara got the information she needed, now she doesn't need me anymore. So, I'm going to get out of everyone's way. Go, just leave me alone. I don't matter." The last statement was barely whispered, but Gabe knew he heard every word. Despair sweeping over him like a wave, he raised the gun to his head once more, determined to end it once and for all.
Whether it was Nottingham's enhanced speed, the alcohol in his system, or his lightheadedness because of loss of blood, he never found out, but somehow he blinked and Nottingham was in front of him, plucking the gun from his still trembling hands and tossing it to the ground before enveloping him in a tight hug. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was Nottingham whispering, "Child, you matter more than you know."
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Nottingham lifted the boy's body with an ease that even surprised himself. Gabriel was far too light; and, by the shadows and bags he saw under the boy's eyes, he hadn't been sleeping well either. He had planned to simply dress the boy's wounds, take the gun, and leave, but after seeing how serious his condition was, decided the hospital would be a better choice. Keeping Gabriel safe in a secure fireman's carry, he disappeared into the night.
TBC........?
Why is Nottingham helping Gabriel? Will Gabriel be grateful for the help? Who's gonna tell Sara? Should I continue? When will I stop asking all these questions? *muse hits magicks over the head with a mallet, knocking her out*
Muse*turns to reader*: I'd answer her fourth question, if I were you. *smiles sweetly and holds up mallet*