There is nothing about her he will ever regret.

Except maybe spotting her so late into the night. Now it feels like the minutes are rationed, precious. He wishes he was a time manipulator with the power to drag each one out into a hundred. He’s been a man who functions in a single plane of existence, the past not worth reminiscing and the future not worth the hassle. But now, looking down into her smiling face as she banters with him, smirk lopsided and mischievous, Gabriel is suddenly thinking past tomorrow.

“Oh, it qualifies,” he assures her. “Best kind of angel, if you ask me. Who doesn’t appreciate a little debauchery in their celestial entities? I know I certainly do.”

It spurs something akin to relief. That she might see herself as anything but perfect is beyond his comprehension, but the idea that she might too, feel out of place in her own shoes. He has always lingered on the outskirts of purpose, his very existence an abomination to those who know the truth of his origin. The spawn of monsters, fighting a sisyphean battle of both nature and nurture. She would be appalled if she knew, her incandescent smiles melting to horror. Or maybe, just maybe…

Maybe she is not a stranger to the broken, blemished creatures of the world as she outwardly appears. Maybe she would be sympathetic to his truths, and find something relatable in the disgust. Maybe she’d felt alone while being surrounded on all sides by other people. He hopes not. But Gabriel does wonder.

Her flirtations crest and gods help me, he’s only fae as she presses flush against his torso. As much as he’d like to say he aspired to be a gentleman, he risks a glance down past her mouth to the glorious decotage swaying into the silk of his tie with every other step.

He thinks she catches him, so the next grin he flashes is accompanied with heat at the facets of his cheeks, turning his face a ruddy sort of bronze. Perhaps the firelight grants him a boon and hides it as shadow on skin. He spins her out in apology, granting them both a clemency of space, but ballerina as she is, she’s back in his arms in one graceful swoop and as she giggles, flashes him a wink, his heart does a weird backflip.

She’s as witty as she is lovely and his face is beginning to ache from all the grinning.

He vows he will not move to give them space again. In fact, he’s going to do something incredibly reckless and lean down to kiss the candy-pink of her lips, willing to bet money it tastes far better then the syrupy punch it matches.

But he never gets the chance, the resolution to hold her closer soon broken by the ineptitude of drunks. Before he’s got time to react, she’s falling out of his reach and spiking his pulse into fight mode. Gabriel scrambles to hook an arm around her waist, throwing his weight into his heels to keep her upright. He means to shove the asshole forcefully away (maybe even deck him for his carelessness), but Alethea is ashen at his side and it immediately becomes the epicenter of his world.

Gabriel frowns, covering the white-knuckled grip she’s got over his heart with one hand and hoisting the brunt of her weight onto his hip with the arm that’s never left her back. The position isn’t the most romantic or the most graceful, but she’s as light as an afterthought and carefully, gingerly, he carries her through the crowd. Something delicate and precious that might actually shatter if he squeezes too hard and doesn’t shield her with the bulk of his body like so.

“Hang on, hang on, I got you,” he says, peering anxiously over the tops of heads for a clear haven. There’s a distinct lack of bodies towards the base of the castle stairs, the majority of the throng having moved closer to the larger bonfires. The glow is still strong enough to allow him to see the damage, but the night air is chilled so far from the flames.

As soon as she’s safely lowered to the bottom step, the suit jacket gets shrugged off. He takes a knee, draping it around her shoulders. It’s overkill, he knows - there’s no worry of her slipping into shock. But his dander is up now, the adrenaline still sitting uncomfortably high in his veins and it translates into the fretting, overprotective energy. He tugs the cheap wool tighter around her torso, smoothing her hair free as she reaches for her ruined heels.

“Aw, don’t say that.” He busks teasingly at her chin with a knuckle, teasingly. “I don’t think it’s possible to have a bad time when you’re around. Even if you are a lame duck now. We’ll just amputate and get back to dancing.”

He moves his attention to her ankle. Slips his fingers alongside hers, probing gently at the swollen flesh of her ankle, thumbing along the inflammation for an edge to the damage.

His other hand wraps around her bare calf, stabilizing her leg. When the beads of her hem keep scraping his knuckles, he slides his hand up to her knee, pushing the fabric aside and drawing her exposed limb closer to his face. The dim firelight and the shadow his annoyingly large frame casts on her position isn’t doing him any favors and he’s forced to tug her half way into his lap to better see the damage.

When she stiffens at the next rotating of her knee, Gabriel raises his head, an apology for hurting her already at the back of his tongue. When the medic instinct kicks in, his focus zeroes in and he’s been reprimanded by his mentors more than once that communication with a patient is an integral part of the job. But it quickly becomes clear the brace against his touch is not one of pain.

His eyes widen as he’s suddenly aware of how precarious their position looks, dress hiked half way up her thighs, him kneeling between them with too-large hands pawing at her naked skin.

“Oh gods! Oh nu- no, no, it’s not-” he stutters in way of explanation. He freezes, unable to loosen or shift his hold of her leg. Just stares blankly at the stark contrast between her pale flesh and his calloused, ungainly fingers. He huffs nervously.

“I’m a-I’m a healer. Fuck! Sorry! I should have led with that. I just...here gimme a second. I can fix it.”

He takes a steading breath, closes his eyes. The healing magic comes to him without hesitation, the strongest and most familiar of his powers. Like the sweep of soft bird’s wings along his arms it comes, like growing silky feathers that reach out and wipe away any decay and pain it finds in its path. Gabriel bares down, pinpoints the focus to the swollen joint of her leg, letting the magic trail down through his fingertips and through. Thea’s ankle gets warmer underneath his touch, then menthol-cool, indicating its success. The magic retreats back up his arms, feeling oddly pleased with itself. As if this patient was particularly important.

Cheeky magic.

Gabriel rubs a thumb over the paper-thin skin at her tendon, double checking to make sure there was nothing he missed. He bends her foot, tests her mobility. When he’s satisfied with what he sees, he pats her foot and liberates it to lay along his knee.

“There! Might be tender for a day, but you’ll be back to perfect by day after.”

He looks to the discarded shoe next to her, hooks it up with a finger and holds it up for inspection with a hiss through his teeth. “Afraid we’ve lost the shoe though,” he says with a grimace, shaking his head and whipping off imaginary glasses with the exaggerated drama soap opera doctors having just lost a patient on the operating table. “I’m so sorry, I’ve got to call time of death. And so young, too, a damn shame. You hate to see it.”

Gabriel grins, hoping to draw back out her laugh again. It’s the finest music he’s heard in a long while and he could stand to put it on repeat for the rest of the night. He settles into a languid sprawl next to her, tilting his head so no inch of her face is blocked to his vision.

“Well, if you need some grief counseling, I’m happy to volunteer a sleeve to cry on,” he offers. “Or if you’re a mourn-in-silence kinda gal, I could offer you breakfast instead. I know a place with a hell of a view of the sunrise. And I know traditional first dates are supposed to be dinner and everything.”

He grins sheepishly, plucks at a few pebbles on the stairs and skips them out into the night. “But I uh, don’t really want to wait that long to see you again.”