xp_logs | Log: A Way Back

A returned Kevin stops by Gabe's room with drinks.

"So, I know you probably hate me right now, but do you hate me enough to pass up sharing a couple of bottles of this?" Kevin said, holding two bottles of Kentucky Owl's 11 year age selection by the necks as he knocked on his door frame.

"Hate's a strong word." Gabriel looked up from his couch, where he'd been more or less lounging since he woke up, with the exception of a smoke break he hadn't been able to resist. "But no." He stood, not really looking at Kevin as he moved to the kitchen. "Come on in. Neat? On the rocks? I can't remember."

"Rocks. Bourbon needs some water for the corn to come out." He passed them over to Gabe and grabbed a seat. "You did some great work."

"Yeah." Gabriel eyed the stack of dirty dishes in his sink, then reached into a cupboard and pulled out two clean glasses. "Thanks," he added a little wearily. "I'm trying not to think about it too much." He zipped over to the freezer, filled the glasses with ice and reappeared in front of Kevin in about three seconds. "Helping Warren feels like betraying some big ideal."

"It was a favor to Felicia. I didn't know it would end up as extreme as it did." Kevin said as the man poured two generous glasses. "I appreciate the pick up. I'd run out of artful spy ways to get the hell out of trouble by that point."

"And you called me." Gabriel cocked an eyebrow. "I assume Domino's too pissed to pick up the phone. Here." He handed a glass to Kevin and dropped the bottle between them. "Shall we toast to your retirement? Cheers."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure she would have just asked me to make sure the phone cam was recording my brutal death. Especially since it doesn't seem to take." He took a long sip and sighed. "As for retirement, I'm not so sure about that."

"Gee," Gabriel said flatly, "what a shock." He swirled the drink in the glass before taking a sip. "Who'd have seen that coming?"

"You're young, which is the only reason I don't sock you one." Kevin said mildly. "Do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to walk away from being... well, this? I could be anyone. Start over in every sense." He shook his head. "God, I miss certainty."

Gabriel didn't react to this, instead taking another sip of bourbon, then staring at the glass for a few seconds before setting it on the counter. It was funny how often he felt he'd had some version of this conversation at Xavier's. "You did walk away," he pointed out, more a statement of fact than a reproof. "And then you came back." He shrugged, his eyes still on the ice cubes. "Nobody's stopping you from doing it again." He finally looked up. "I'm not standing in your way, if that's what you want."

"I'm not asking you to convince me otherwise, Gabe. I'm just... coming to terms with the fact that I might have screwed up. I mean, finding out you're a weird alien looking thing and not a person is a lot to handle but it brought a lot of other issues up. Watching Worthington this weekend, I just... why? Why, with literally every advantage possible, do you torpedo your life? And that- that turns into some hard personal questions I've been good at avoiding."

"Which part is the screw up, exactly?" Gabriel crossed his arms. "Is this about — well, I don't even know what to ask about." So much of what Gabriel knew about Kevin's personal life was tinged with tragedy. But whether that was because Kevin's personal life was so tragic or because Gabriel knew relatively little about it was hard to say. "And you don't have to tell me," he added. "Not like you owe me anything."

"No, I do. And that's the part that's fucking me up." He sighed and put down his drink. "I put up walls because that's what we did; my generation, my profession, my... I don't know, some other new term. And I did what other old people did; watch their friends die, their accomplishments to disappear, and their circles to shrink, until the CIA made it definitive with a bullet in the head. But I didn't die. I came back in a way that terrified me and I cloaked myself in what I used to know. And that slipped away slowly, except for you folks. And that was a fuck of a lot scarier than I imagined. Then I woke up on a table as a thing and couldn't deny some facts any longer. My real form is some kind of default state, which means whatever makes me is a choice." He tossed off the last of his drink and held out for a refill. "I fucking hate that."

Gabriel, apparently forever a bartender, poured the other man more bourbon. "Maybe that's not the real you," he said, adding another finger of whiskey to his glass while he was at it. "Maybe that... whatever you want to call it, that form, that thing, that's a blank slate. Maybe that's how you started, but you made choices along the way." He shrugged. "But isn't that basically what we all do? We all make big choices that make us who we are, or who we want to be, or whatever. Your shit's more complex and a lot more literal."

"It being more literal makes it really tempting to just start over. But after this shitshow, tossing it all away doesn't seem as easy as it did. You might laugh, but even after decades with the CIA, up to my eyeballs in the most cynical shit possible, I did it because I was a patriot. I believed that it was my duty. And I loathe that Worthington fuck and still couldn't just walk away. Know thyself, right?"

"And thyself turneth out to be a fairly decent person, which, what?" Gabriel ventured a guess here, "Surprises you?"

"Sure. If I'm going to fight for myself, it means changing, which is a lot harder than being someone else."

"Oh yeah," Gabriel nodded sagely. "Being yourself is the fucking worst. Especially when you have no idea what that really means, but everyone else seems to have an opinion." Himself included, but he thought it better not to voice that now. So instead he swirled his glass again and took a sip.

The conversation was raising more questions, and he wasn't entirely sure what to ask, but something had been nagging at him, something he'd only talked to Domino about, and not really at that. Gabriel figured this was the best chance he'd get. "Hey," he ventured again, his gaze fixed studiously on his hands. "When you were on your sabbatical or whatever?" Then he looked up. "Before I started looking for you, and then when I couldn't find you, I wondered. Did you go to Maryland? Did you — that girl, in the photos?"

Kevin gave him a long look. "No." He said finally. "My half nephew buried me two decades ago. What's he done to deserve having his life and family disrupted like that?"

“Don’t give me that look,” Gabriel frowned. “You of all people are more than capable of pretending to be the cable guy or some shit so you can talk to the only person left tied to some original sin part of you.” He crossed his arms. “It wasn’t a dumb question.”

"What's the point of that? Could I get a table across from them at a restaurant and watch them eat? Sure. That's about as much of a relationship as long distance photos." He tossed off the last of his drink and poured another. "Besides, don't forget the CIA literally executed me while I was standing on the dock of that house. They knew I was a mutant. If I turn up and reveal that old uncle Kevin never really died, there's a chance I put them in danger."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess that's true." Gabriel shrugged. "Forgive me I don't always think through the intricacies of your decades-long career as a government spy."

"Don't sweat it. It's a perfectly fair question, and one I've asked myself more times than you can imagine." He said. Last thing he considered doing was being mad at Gabe for being curious. "I see you officially made your retirement as a bartender. They'll appreciate you being able to put in more time."

"Yeah." And now they were talking about Gabriel now. Convenient. "I dunno. It was time, you know? Like..." He wasn't entirely sure what to say, actually. Bartending was a job he took out of need and proximity. He needed some money, and he wanted to be close to people he could steal, cajole or seduce it from. But he went with a simpler explanation. "I have options now. Choices, I guess. And I chose not to work nights and weekends. "

"Keep your hand in. You know by now it's the easiest, most natural intelligence network possible." He said. "But, assuming anyone is willing to work with me again, are you interested in more advanced training?"

"Yeah," Gabriel said. He raised an eyebrow. "But are you interested in providing it? You left already, and I had to figure all this shit out on my own, and if you're going to cut and run again, maybe I should find a new mentor."

"Not unfair. And I can't promise you that the next time I catch a bullet in the brain that I'm not going to go a little weird. But, in the absence of major head trauma, I like to think you can trust my track record." Kevin reached over and topped up his glass. "Or tell me to go to hell. Couldn't blame you if you did and frankly, can't say that isn't what I'd do in your shoes."

“I can’t get mad at anybody for cutting and running. I just...” He looked down at the counter, unsure exactly what he wanted to say. That he’d felt abandoned? That he’d expected more from Kevin? It all seemed impossibly melodramatic, and it wasn’t entirely what he was feeling. “I guess I was surprised.” Not wrong. “Still am, even the more we talk about it. Seems more like me than you.”

"I was wrong to run, Gabe. For exactly the reasons that are making me come back. Whether I wanted to acknowledge it or not, people did trust me. More than I trusted myself. And all running did was hurt them." He said quietly. "Some people will forgive me. And some won't, which is on me, not them."

"You weren't wrong. It's not — people run, and it is what it is." At least, Gabriel hoped that was the case. "And you came back, so, whatever." He shrugged and picked up the glass. "Honestly, it doesn't matter. We could go around in circles forever here. I think there were hints of an apology in there, so I'll take that. You obviously know I don't hate you, because you asked me to come save your ass, but if you need to hear it, fine: Consider yourself absolved." He raised the glass to his lips and then stopped to add, before taking a swig, "And next time, maybe leave a note."

"Well, father Gabriel, I didn't come for absolution. I just wanted to be honest... and you've earned that. That's a compliment, by the way."

"Have I?" Gabriel raised an eyebrow as he topped off his glass again. "Thanks, I guess."