a/n: I stopped watching the show after 2x09, but I felt compelled to write something. This is my perspective on Gabi and Sir's relationship, and how it should end. Thank you for reading.
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"In the middle of the journey of our life, I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost."
- 'The Inferno' by Dante Alighieri
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Her heels dug into the carpet as she watched the mouth of the man before her; his thin lips and aqueous tongue were unusually hurried, anxious. Panicked. Her lips pressed together in indignation, pushing back against his nearly desperate attempt to send her on her way. He insisted she leave the room, and the school, immediately and in return, he would divulge the truth about Jamie.
The way his cashmere sweater, lightly pilling around the collar, grew tight on his broad shoulders was conducive to a fear only he knew. A glance down at his large hands revealed a flush of pinkened skin, with fingers worrying themselves in trembles.
"You're lying." Gabi stated, plain and simple. Refusing to be thrown by the sudden change in his character.
"Was I lying the last time we worked Jamie's case together?" Sir questioned, impatient and knowing. Distressed.
He was rarely shaken to such a degree, much less to the point of trepidation. Still the back of her neck tightened, bristling at the notion that he could so easily dismiss her.
It's a trick, she thought. It has to be.
She met his stare once more - a mistake, she quickly realized, as it planted the seed of doubt in her gut. Madness glimmered within those eyes, but as she came to know him so did a well of sorrow, imperceptible to anyone but her. A bitter viscid coated her tongue like poison at the notion that she understood him, that individual wounds connected them. He was her wound, her affliction. No amount of horror in his youth could persuade her to ever trust him, nor believe him worthy of redemption.
"Gabrielle, all I want is you, your companionship, and the life we are destined to have." His words might have been beseeching, devotional even, if she were a lesser woman. A silly woman.
His eyes, almond-shaped and vibrant hazel in color, looked jet black in the poorly lit space. Long lashes, dark and full, almost softened his appearance. On anyone else she may have thought it beautiful. On Sir, it was deception.
So deceitful, in fact, she hadn't noticed how close he stood in front of her. Admittedly it was unlike him to maintain less than an arm's length, as they had an understanding. An edict silently drawn up between them in equal measure, no longer willing to defile the other's personal space. Her own legs, however, wouldn't give an inch of movement to step back. Instead she was frozen in place. He was tall and well built, radiating an energy that seeped into the marrow of her bones. It never failed to overwhelm her, to consume her; such an acknowledgment made her hate him even more.
"I know you can't come to me when your people are in need. So I made it my mission to solve their problems." He said, speaking so quickly, his words toppled themselves.
From his proximity, the sweet scent of almond oil caught her nose. Judging by the sheen on his beard, the smell was undoubtedly a conditioning oil by Tom Ford. She had bought it for him months ago, after they solved a particularly grueling case that took weeks to close. He asked for it and knowing it was his favorite, she acquiesced in a moment of generosity. Sixty-five dollars for only thirty milliliters of product was an exorbitant reminder that no good deed went unpunished. He never stopped costing her in one way or another.
"I'm telling the truth, I know what happened to Jamie." He asserted, lowering his tone from a demand to a plea. "Leave and I-NO!"
A whistle of air lashed against her nape before the blow connected. She expelled a harsh grunt as her body jutted forward on impact, her eyes wincing shut involuntarily. The force of the strike was immense, rendering her unconscious almost instantly. Falling so abruptly caused her to smack her head on the edge of the chair behind her. She laid on the floor in a crumpled heap, knocked out with a hematoma pooling at her temple.
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A spindle wrapped in gold thread illuminated the void, appearing to twirl on its own. Pale, slender arms faded in: one hand clasped the spindle, the other pulled the thread toward another pair of arms. Long fingers took the end of the thread, tugging it between both hands until its length was measured to satisfaction. Finally, one last pair of arms came forward with embroidery scissors in their grasp.
Each pair of hands, three in total, belonged to a trio of sisters. Clotho spun the thread of human life, Lachesis measured it thus creating lifespan, and through Atropos life was snuffed out.
Though their faces were shrouded in darkness, their power was astounding. They were known as the Moirai or by some, the Fates. A myth made real by a brush with death.
Atropos ran her shears up and down the thread, skimming off frayed ends along the way. A proper snip would take Gabi to the other side of the mortal coil, reuniting her with her father.
She missed the inharmonious twang of him tuning his violin on the weekends. Missed the times they would dance together in her kitchen, two-stepping across the hardwood floor to Sister Sledge's 'Greatest Dancer'. Missed taking him roller-skating at the rink near Lacey's apartment, holding hands while he convinced them both to skate backwards.
Richard was more than having to borrow money from a teenaged Gabi to get to work, after drinking it all away the night before. More than slogging through the—only two—school speeches he'd been able to make, during her short-lived tenure at Beckson High. More than occasionally forgetting to pick her up from school, prompting her—once beloved and respected—teacher to drive her home a few times a month ...
The traumas that later ensued weren't the fault of her father. Her own choices, devastating and irresponsible, weren't the fault of her father.
She would always be his little girl. She would always be the daughter of Richard and Francesca Mosely.
Atropos paused when a green dragonfly landed atop her hand, stilling its wings as it settled. After a brief consideration, she applied a bit of pressure and nicked the thread. Unexpectedly the insect felt the cut, bleeding from its clipped hindwing. Atropos then slowly withdrew her hand, and Lachesis took back the thread and lightly tugged it so Clotho would free up more length from the spindle.
It was a lesson, a reminder that the Fates' decision to extend Gabi's life didn't come without sacrifice. Although one wing was cut in half the dragonfly could still take flight, albeit with struggle and great pain. Gabi was very much the same.
Whatever sacrifice - whatever part of herself required amputation, was a mystery.
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Her body was leaden, anchored to the floor and beading with sweat. The tale of what she had endured left her quite shaken, manifesting as a quickened pulse and throbbing pain vibrating just under her skin. Each of her locs were sore at the roots as if suddenly twisted too tight, and her scalp blistered where she was struck.
Visions of what happened before the attack and her subsequent fever dream coalesced, wringing her fragile mind so tight she feared what remained of her sanity would shatter.
Strings of destiny and dragonflies ...
"H-hey, hey, you okay?" a hand touched her shoulder, gently shrugging her awake. "Gabi! Gabi, what happened?"
Alone, she thought.
"What happened?" He asked again, looking over her body for other injuries.
She recognized him—Trent, as a kind and comforting spirit. Handsome and temperate. An old lover of years past, who beared a shallow resemblance to ...
He left me all alone, he let someone hurt me.
A knot twisted deep in her stomach from the realization that Sir had left her there on the carpet, out cold and injured. She could see him in her mind's eye: the look of unbridled panic that marred his features when she was attacked, was unforgettable.
There was, however, always a caveat to his 'compassion'; someone he knew had gotten close enough to hurt her. Someone he trusted and valued, willing to do what he wouldn't. It was one violation after another, each more scathing than the last.
He could have stolen her away again the moment her body hit the floor, but he didn't. A second kidnapping vis-à-vis throwing Gabi under the bus for his many crimes was, in few words, a no-brainer.
"You're here to take me to jail." She murmured, looking up through heavy-lidded eyes while her thoughts misled her.
He lied to me yet again. Not an iota of truth in him.
Perhaps his plan all along was to let Trent hang her high, then 'Eric Blair' could escape the country, sight unseen. And she would be a victim-turned-defendant, a fool who believed she could abduct her abductor with impunity.
She wondered what her father would think of her, of who she became.
If his thread was snipped early, because of me.
"We need to get you to a doctor. Now, your head." Trent insisted, his heart beating in his eyes as he looked down at her.
Trent had been in her life for five years, but within that time he'd never met her dad. He was good to M & A, special to her, and a competent lover. But there was a hesitancy, an uncertainty that kept her from taking the plunge with him. A lack of torrid, explosive desire in her heart for him. His love was ... ingratiating at times, and tepid at others. Her disinterest lacked rhyme or reason, but she wasn't ready to let him go. Her father would've loved him - maybe that could be reason enough to keep him, to have him wholly.
Maybe it would be enough to keep her out of custody.
"No jail yet. I have to spread my dad's ashes." Her tone was hushed, dreamy. "He was a good man. A good dad."
Trent offered a faint smile before gathering her up in his arms, one hand under her knees and the other grasping her shoulder.
"Ready?" He asked, his breath warm against her cheek.
She tilted her head forward a bit, affirming without speaking. She was too tired to say anything more, too in pain to offer more than a brief nod. Seconds later she was off the floor, her denim covered legs and heeled feet sore to the touch.
"Okay," Trent continued with a sigh, pressing her head to his chest for stability. "Let's go."
She surveyed the room one last time, noticing an absence of evidence that anyone had been there with her. Photos of the seven missing children of color, gone. Her brass knuckles - kicked under an office desk and into a nest of power cords. She squinted her eyes to make out the shapes printed on the carpet, and her heart tightened in her chest.
More dragonflies, she pondered, I don't understand.
There was dried blood smeared across the head and wings where she'd fallen.
The walk to Trent's sedan out front felt like a marathon, beginning from the moment he scraped her off the floor. Every tiny wobble in his hold, heavy footfall, and pass under overhead lights heightened her nausea. By the time he placed her legs on the ground, her breakfast had reached the top of her throat.
Gabi scrambled out of his arms and away from him, narrowly avoiding puking on his shoes.
"Jesus, Gabi! Are you all right?" He exclaimed, sideling up to her.
What little energy she had left wasn't enough to swat his hand away from rubbing her back but instead, was siphoned by the retching keeping her from standing upright. She hated how weak she was then, how his kindness felt piteous. Projection muddied with guilt sat in the back of her mind, repelling her from his affection.
"'m f-fine just," she slurred, spitting bile on the asphalt. "h-hospital." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand before Trent picked her up again, supporting her petite frame with one arm.
"We're going we're going," he returned briskly, opening the back door and laying her down on the seat.
The leather was cool and surprisingly soft, serving as a much needed reprieve to her sweltering skin. The motion of the car was tolerable so long as she kept her eyes closed, and given the traffic lights, lack of sight was welcome deprivation. The noise, however, only amplified the stabbing pain in her head.
"One pain is lessened by another's anguish," she whispered, reciting an excerpt from 'Romeo and Juliet'.
Gabi dug her nails in the seat cushion when Sir's voice overlapped with hers, distracting her from another wave of nausea. She scrunched her nose in defiance, sooner willing to die than believe he could do an ounce of good.
"Take thou some new infection to thy eye, and the rank poison of the old will die."
'You understand, Gabrielle?'
His voice was a rich timbre of smoke and sandalwood, haunting her like a phantom she couldn't vanquish.
'Do you? Understand what Benvolio was trying to tell Romeo?' He asked again. His tone was light, almost playful.
He was baiting her. Testing her.
"Of course I understand." Gabi whispered aloud again. "Benvolio meant that pain becomes endurable when a second pain is focused on elsewhere."
'Essentially trading one pain for another.'
"Precisely."
'But ... you already knew that. After all, Romeo and Juliet is one of our favorites.'
Gabi wouldn't give her conscience - Him, a response any longer. She began to drift in and out, her stomach settling and her body sinking into the seat.
'Gabrielle ...' he was beckoning her, always seeking her. 'You can't just ignore me-'
"Go to hell," her voice was a bit louder, furious. "I'm done with you."
"Gabi?" Trent called from the driver's seat, startling her.
"Gabi, are you all right? Did you need something?"
"N-no, no I'm okay." She replied, blinking away the shadows in her eyes. "Are we almost there?"
"We're pulling in to emergency now."
He truly was good to the core - always willing to take care of her, even when she disregarded him.
He deserves so much better than all this, she lamented, better than me.
After parking, Trent pulled Gabi from the backseat, carrying her through the sliding doors at George Washington University Hospital. The sudden shift in position hit her like a rogue wave, causing her to nearly jump out of Trent's arms just in time. A young nurse, bless her heart, saw Gabi puking in the walkway and ran over to help. The words "concussion" and "traumatic injury" among others, flew around as a second nurse approached them with a gurney in tow. Her body was depleted, too weak to even climb onto the gurney without assistance.
Her skin was dry and wan for her complexion, making the pillow feel like sandpaper against her cheek. All the lights and the noises were dizzying as the nurses wheeled her past the intake desk, exacerbating the ringing in her ears. Between the nurses talking to each other and her limp hand in Trent's grasp as he walked beside them, she was overstimulated. She turned away from them, slipping her hand free and pulling the blanket over her shoulder.
She curled into herself and clasped her hands together under the blanket, people-watching as they passed each triage. She saw a elderly man flipping through channels, a doctor jotting shorthand as their patient voiced their grievances, a little boy wincing while getting his knee bandaged up, and a teenaged girl-
Tears fell hot and fast when she locked eyes with her younger self, staring back as if she didn't recognize her older counterpart. When Gabi blinked her younger self was gone in an instant, replaced by a stranger of a different hue and similar age.
She was famished and delirious. Half-mad without sleep, yet too tired to dry her eyes. Too preoccupied to care where her heels landed when the nurses unzipped them. Too burned out to reply with more than a faint smile when asked if she wanted them to wipe the smeared, sweaty makeup from her face. Trent had stepped out to make calls while the nurses dressed her in a hospital gown, placing her clothes in a drawstring bag.
Time passed in a blur - she barely felt the prick in her arm when they started the IV, pumping her with Ondansetron to stop the nausea. She felt safe there, enveloped in the warmth of her hospital bed in a private room. The lights were switched off per her request and the door was closed to minimize outside noise. She relished the solitude, only intermittently disrupted by medical staff for tests and a receptionist from intake. Trent had been called into work before her CT scan, and she was thankful for his leave. The excessive worrying and the carrying and the touching—it was all too much. There were no presumptions, no expectations of 'going steady' or talking about feelings in the confines of her private room. She could just be.
Every day of her life she was yanked in all directions, spreading herself as thin as a knife's edge. When things went bump in the night, her team came running to her front door - sometimes without notice or preamble. She was the embodiment of Atlas, supporting the entire world on weary shoulders. But there in her recovery bed, she wasn't a deity or a matriarch, she was merely a human being.
Gabi was half-asleep when a familiar silhouette appeared in the dark, sitting in the chair by the door. He was reading a paperback of 'Walden' by Thoreau, thumbing through the pages before meeting her gaze. His eyes were electrifying even at a distance, shattering her defenses like a pebble on a windshield. She rubbed her legs together under the covers, bringing them to her chest as if receding into herself for protection. He was an apparition, a ghost in her dreams and nightmares alike.
Sir flitted his eyes back to the page before him, offering a small smile as he rose to his feet, book in hand.
"'I find it wholesome to be alone the greater part of the time.'" he began, walking around the room as he recited the excerpt. "'To be in company, even with the best, is too wearisome and dissipating.
"'I love to be alone,'" he continued, looking at her once more. "'I never found the companion that was so companionable as solitude.'"
She watched him a moment longer, listening to his gentle breathing as he approached. Moving in virtual silence like a zephyr across the room, the back of his thighs brushing against the fitted sheet on the bed. She let out a shaky breath when he dared to sit down, taking the spot by her feet.
"Gabrielle ..." he breathed her name like a prayer, interlacing his fingers in his lap.
Her hackles went up at the sound, a sheen of sweat forming on her skin.
Never a moment of peace, she thought.
"Thoreau is right, you know. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be on your own for a little while, for ... wanting to take time for yourself."
She was too fatigued to argue, or to engage him at all. They'd read 'Walden', both independently and together, several times over. She didn't need a refresher.
Still she couldn't stop conjuring him, couldn't stop thinking of him nearly every waking moment. It was twisted.
"Never said there was. Now, go away." She murmured.
She turned her back to him but the blankets caught under his weight, twisting uncomfortably around her waist the farther she pulled away.
"Gabrielle, I'm not trying to initiate an argument. It's just I understand how you feel." He countered, turning his upper body as she did, and pressing his hand on the bed.
Her pulse quickened when his fingertips grazed the back of her ankle through the blanket. It was minuscule, essentially a non-touch, but her skin was on fire. Her leg jerked forward and out of reach but the sensation continued to spread, stealing her breath away.
"Gabi?"
The voice of a young woman cut through the illusion.
Gabi paused to catch her breath before turning to face her, waiting for the tingles of ... whatever that was, to subside. She chalked it up to her concussed, addled brain creating more vivid daydreams than before.
A lapse in my mental state. That's all it was.
She wasn't interested in dissecting it.
"Gabi," it was her nurse, whose name she forgot as quickly as she'd heard it. "Are you all right?"
Truthfully, she didn't even hear her come in. It must've happened sometime during -
Gabi feigned a smile when she faced the brunette.
"All good, thank you." She sighed, rubbing her eyes with pads of her fingers. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in, Miss ...?"
The woman had questions swirling in her deep-set blue eyes but she kept them to herself, seamlessly changing her expression from perplexed to congenial.
"My name is Morgan," she stated. "I came in to check on you - make sure the Ondansetron is working and if so, get some fluids in you, okay?"
"No nausea anymore but I could use some morphine." She chuckled dryly in half jest, willing to pray to whomever god if it meant some decent pain relief.
"No pain meds for the first twenty-four hours, I'm afraid." Morgan replied, swapping out the empty anti-emetic bag for saline. "We can't risk giving you any meds that may increase bleeding, due to your concussion. You should be cleared for Tylenol tomorrow evening, provided all your scans come back clean."
Gabi frowned, reading between the lines. She would be in the hospital for, at minimum, one full day. She looked at the time on the girl's smartwatch: 3:11am, it read, which meant visiting hours had long passed. She didn't know what time Trent left but she knew he'd alerted M & A hours ago. She missed them but there was sure to be myriad texts and voicemails waiting for her in the morning. At the moment, she couldn't fathom even turning on the television mounted to the wall. She just wanted to sleep through the night, undisturbed.
By 3:30am, Morgan bid Gabi goodnight and shut the door behind her. She took a sip from the apple juicebox on the side table and laid back down, sighing when her head touched the pillow. She took slow meditative breaths to self-soothe, quelling her racing thoughts as best she could before falling asleep minutes later.
Sources
Benvolio's words to Romeo: #:~:text=Benvolio,pain.
Dragonfly symbolism: .edu/works/chid490animalmourning/dragonfly-and-butterfly
The Moirai: wiki/Moirai
Walden quote: work/quotes/2361393-walden-or-life-in-the-woods